My Halloween Costume Ch 02 One Drop Shop

My Halloween Costume 2 -- One Drop Shop

Looking at me, you'd never identify me as a theme park aficionado. I'm not, particularly, although when I'm in LA shopping on Rodeo Drive or attending a celebrity party or visiting one my families' vineyards in LA, I do occasionally drop by a very exclusive club tucked away in the center of a very particular theme park. The club is seldom discussed publicly, the waiting list to get in is years long, and the initiation fee is more than any of the pathetic waiters who serve in the place will see in a year.

When my friends ask me to give them a peek inside, I always turn them down. What's the point in being exclusive if you can't snob your friends? I always drop hints that it's some sort of secret society, like the one Tom Cruise bumbles into in EYES WIDE SHUT, when in fact it's the same cartoon themed crap they serve elsewhere in the park, for an obscene fee.

Besides making my friends green with envy, the other reason I love this section of the park is the exquisite New Orleans theming. I could visit the French Quarter -- and indeed my family owns several townhouses there, and in the Garden District. But the theme park provides a neat, tidy, compact FANTASY version of my beloved New Orleans, and I was all about the fantasy.

Do you know how boring Halloween is with the rich and famous, with everyone competing and posing in the mirror? Timothée is cute when he speaks French, but Leo passes can get quite tedious. After making my presence sufficiently known to the people who matter, I had my driver take me to my happy place. My Halloween costume this year was a green, shoulders bare antebellum ball gown, which was silk and sexy as hell without being slutty (or too slutty, at least.) There had been a bit of a kerfuffle at the gate, as one of the older female guards seemed concerned that my gown was so authentic, I might confuse nitwit park guests into thinking I worked in the park. However, a bit of my Southern charm and a twirl of my parasol convinced the man in charge to let me in.

My New Orleans stroll into the past was all I had dreamed it could be. A number of people had stolen my idea and were also dressed for NOLA, although given the nature of the attractions in this section of the park there were far more ghosts and Pirates than there were Southern belles. The few girls who did attempt a Southern theme frowned when they saw me, as I blew them out of the park, and always managed to draw their boyfriends' (or husbands') attentions away from their charms.

The other girls could compete, or try to. Competing against me was useless. I always won.

I walked down the familiar allies, enjoying the little shops filled with trinkets, jewelry, perfumes, crystals, and other accessories, at absurdly marked up prices. The real fun, of course, was seeing how the men looked at me -- scrawny freshman college boys from UCLA, fathers escorting their children, and even a few grooms who looked at me and wondered if marrying the woman next to them hadn't been settling. It was almost as if I were on the market, up for sale. Naughty, I know, but it gave me a delicious tingle between my legs.

"It's wonderful to see you, Katherine. Welcome to New Orleans, my home, and now yours."

I turned and encountered a beautiful woman with gorgeous red hair that draped over her bare shoulders. Her skin was flawless, alabaster white. I frowned as I quickly scanned her perfect figure. Now I would have to compete for the men's affections.

"You look well," she said, smiling as she returned my appraising stare. "Does your daddy still own every sugar mill and cotton plantation from here to hades?" she asked, playfully fanning herself, as she mocked my Southern accent.

"I love your costume, though. Give me a twirl! Good girl. Of course, it is a bit on-the-nose, as they say, given how your family made its fortune, isn't it?"

I stared at her, straining to remember who I was addressing. She knew me, and my family. She was beautiful, but too spirited to be one my daddy's mistresses, or one my many step mothers. I could tell immediately she wasn't some random bimbo.

"You don't remember me, do you?" she said. "I'm Bella Tate, founder of Cyber Virtual. We met at a party about 8 years ago. You left with my boyfriend."

"Yes, I remember. But you disappeared. You're MISSING," I said.

"Hardly," she laughed. "You found me, didn't you? You found me, you in your sexy Halloween Southern Belle costume that's causing every man in the park to stain his pants. Quite appropriate, given the many such stains in your family's past."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I said, stiffening a bit at the accusation.

"Your family made its fortune on the backs of slave labor, sweetie," Bella purred. "Sugar, mostly, because you were all so sweet, but also plenty of cotton and rice. And after those stupid Yankees outlawed the slave trade, you made even more money breeding slaves."

Smiling, Bella leaned in, pressing me against the wall. "Oh, the Patterson family LOVED slave breeding. Strippin' 'em down naked, checking their peckers, bendin' 'em over, checking their teeth, an all their other holes, too. Then all the men folk, and the women, too, watching while they put the wenches to stud, putting sacks on their heads so they wouldn't get emotional. After all, they were just livestock, right?"

"I wouldn't know about that," I said, biting my lip as I looked away.

"Of course, you would, sugar. You know EVERYTHING, smart girl like you. That's why you like to play dress up here in your happy place, isn't it? Pretend it's the old days? It's okay, sweetie. There's no secrets between us."

Looking into the endless pools of her beautiful blue eyes, I felt like I was falling into a trance. I had met Bella once or twice, and hadn't thought much about her since she had disappeared. When was it? I had gone to the Winter Olympics that year. Was it 2018? A lot of girls disappear. No one would have cared, except Bella was rich, and being a tech CEO, mildly famous. Not Patterson famous, but famous nonetheless.

I hadn't heard about her reemergence, but that didn't surprise me. We weren't close, and reappearing isn't as good a story.

"Slave markets... auction blocks... breeding farms... whips and shackles..." she teased. "Those were the good old days, at least for the Pattersons."

I felt myself go flush. "The good old days," and my many fantasies about them, is what drew me to this place of fantasy, a place where anything was possible. Although I barely knew her, Bella seemed to understand the secrets I never revealed.

Bella reached out and lifted up my chin, drawing so close our lips almost touched. "It's okay, Katherine. I have all the same thoughts. Naughty thoughts that nice girls like us don't have. Casually wandering into the slave market. Seeing all the naked flesh... the auction block... the auctioneer, whip in hand, teasing the best price out of the buyers for the women he's selling like animals."

I leaned in as her voice dropped to a whisper. "You watch, as the poor girl is prodded to turn this way and that, bending, stretching, jiggling, so the buyers can see her wares. Then finally, the magic word, the transformational incantation that will change her life forever..."

"SOLD!" she shouted, pointing in the air to some lucky unseen bidder, as I banged my head against the stucco wall in shock.

"Oww!" I said, rubbing my head.

"That's nothing, sweetie," she chuckled. "When you step off the auction block, they'll take you to the blacksmith's forge, and the smoking hot iron. The auction makes it legal. The branding iron will make it permanent."

I swallowed hard. Somehow, the fantasy progressed from me being a spectator to me being the merchandise. It was like my mind was an onion, and she was peeling it back, layer by layer, to expose my soul. What was worse, the heat and wetness between my legs was undeniable.

Lightening my mood, Bella took my hand and let me into the shop behind us, under a beautiful wrought iron arch and a sign that read ANTIQUES AND CURIOSITIES.

The merchandise was beautiful, if absurdly overpriced. I could buy my own shop in New Orleans for what they charged for the chandeliers.

Bella took me to the rear of the store, to a push cart I didn't remember ever seeing in the shop before. To be kind, the cart was out of place, both because of the cheap looking nature of the rabbits' feet and lucky coins and other trinkets that were being sold, and the old, toothless African woman who seemed to be guarding the junk with dark, piercing eyes.

"Hello, Bella," the old woman said, in a thick African accent. "I see you have brought a friend. Oh, my, what a pretty little birdie you are," she said, laughing as she looked me up and down. I smiled and nodded, not knowing precisely why I was here, or where this was going.

"Look around, Katherine," Bella urged. "Unlike most of the junk they sell here, this cart is 100% authentic."

I examined the cart doubtfully. Everything on the cart looked old, but it also looked dirty, and a bit rotten. I noticed Bella and the black woman exchanging knowing glances as I pretended to "shop." After giving everything a polite once over, I delivered my verdict. "I'm good," I said.

The old woman's stale breath wafted at me as she laughed in my face. "Oh, but you could be better, much better!" she cackled. Slipping a small leather necklace off a wooden peg she held it up for my inspection. The leather looked worn, and very old. The pendant was two squares that had been turned on their side to look like four-sided diamonds. The two diamonds intersected to form a third four-sided diamond in the center.

It certainly wasn't pretty, and frankly looked a little cheap and rotten -- a worn piece of leather with a loop on one end and a little hook to catch it. The pendant itself was quite crude and worn too -- two simple squares arranged to create three overlapping "diamonds".

"Put it on. It is your Halloween costume!" she said, laughing.

"I'm already wearing my costume," I protested.

The toothless old cackled so loudly I could see her few remaining teeth. "No, this is your costume. YOUR costume! Put it on, and you'll see, you'll see. Necklace only costume you need."

"Thank you, but I don't want to buy anything tonight," I said, trying to hand it back to her.

"No, no, no!" she said, shaking her head and batting my hand away. "No sell. Your money no good here, not tonight. Gift. Gift! Gift from Africa, to rich American girl who dreams of what it used to be like in New Orleans. It is gift, on night of the darkness. 'Trick-and-Treat', as you say. Ha-ha-ha!"

Taking the necklace, Bella quickly slipped it around my neck, hooking it closed. I blinked as the lights flickered.

Everything was the same, but different. The faux gas lamps were now real gas lamps, and the teenager at the register who had been dressed like a pirate was now an elegantly dressed shopkeeper from the antebellum era, complete with beard and mustache. The other patrons were dressed in period costume as well, and I could see a horse and carriage outside of the store.

"What the fuck!" I said, quickly taking the necklace off.

Again, the lights flickered, and my pirate cashier and the lady in the cargo pants wondering if she should blow her child's tuition for a lamp returned.

Bella laughed. "Just a little bit of Halloween magic, sweetie!" she said. "That's your fantasy, isn't it? To visit the New Orleans where your family made its fortune? To see the markets? The REAL markets, where your family tended to its trade."

My juices were running down my thighs, but my mouth dried up as I looked at the pendant in my hand. What were the interlocking diamonds, and what did they mean?

"Don't be frightened, Katherine," Bella said, once again reading my mind. "It's just a little bit of harmless Halloween magic. It's no different than the Pirate ride, or the Haunted House ride, only you can stop it anytime you want, by taking off the pendant."

"I feel like I should give you something to use this... for a while...", I said. "I should give something to the owner."

"Who owns this place is not your concern, Katherine, at least, not at this time," Bella said, talking to me as if I were a child. "The question you have to decide is whether you want to cosplay with the trick-or-treaters, and wait in line two hours to go see some fake ghosts, or join me on a REAL Halloween adventure, and join a club far more exclusive than the sad little cartoon hip scam your daddy bought your way into."

"What sort of club?" I asked.

"The sort of club you've been telling all your friends you belonged to, silly. A club for the select few. A club for girls like us, girls with wicked thoughts they don't dare tell the others. A place of fantasy, where all your dreams will come true."

Smiling, Bella held up the leather necklace, dangling it in front of my face. "What's it going to be, Katherine. Trick-or-Treat! Do you want your candy?"

"Trick or treat," I said, as if in a trance. "I want my candy," I said, staring at the dangling, hypnotic pendant. "I want... my adventure."

"Den dat what you git, white girl," the old black woman at the cart sniped. "Makin' money sellin' us black folks, while jucin' yourself, wonderin' what it be like. Tonight, you KNOW what it be like, ha-ha!'

The decision made, Bella seemed anxious to get me away from the cackling African crone before I changed my mind. "Let's go, Katherine. Right this way... right out the door."

At the door she paused, and put the necklace around my neck. The board pirate clerk didn't seem to notice us, but I noticed the sudden transformation of light, sounds, sights, and smells as I found myself in Antebellum New Orleans.

Stepping through the front door, we encountered a beautiful mahogany carriage, with two white horses and a black liveryman who looked like he was dressed to stand on someone's lawn. The emblem on the carriage was a beautiful italic P, which I recognized as my family crest.

"Is this how I got here?" I asked. Where are we going?"

"Shhh!" Bella said, shushing me like I was a child. Turning to the left I heard voices around the corner.

"Six hundred... do I hear seven hundred. Damn it, gentleman this little bitch has already dropped 3 pups. Look at her and she'll get knocked up. I know I wouldn't mind taking her out for a ride. Do I hear 6 and a quarter? Six and a Quarter?"

Looking at the wall in front of me, I saw a poster.

WENCHES FOR SALE

Fine Breeding Stock!

Auction begins at 3PM

Pen Inspection Begins 2PM sharp. Mix business with pleasure.

Pattersons

Sugar & Cotton

Slave Trading, & Breeding

"I want to watch the auction," I said. "It's my family auction, right?"

"Later," Bella said dismissively. "First, we need to establish with fine people of New Orleans who you are, and from whence you came. We shall establish your legal status in the building across the street."

"There is no building across the street," I said, glad to be right instead of being bossed about. "Those are fake doors. The other side of that wall is the flume for the Pirate ride."

Smiling, Bella walked across the cobblestone street and stopped at one of the faux doors. In its previous incarnation, it had been a house, but now a cursive plaque read:

123 Royal Street

One Drop Shop

Bella gently used the gold knocker to announce our arrival. An opening in the door slid open, and a pair of black eyes peered out at us.

"She's here," she said cryptically.

The little pass door slid open, and a moment later I heard the door unbolt several times and then open.

Still expecting to walk off the street and into a flume of water, I entered carefully. Much to my surprise, I found myself standing in a gigantic 3 story rotunda with a chandelier worth any price they might care to charge for it. The effect was particularly baffling, since from the street the building was only 2 stories tall.

A jovial Irishman, with just a hint of a brogue, crossed the rotunda to greet us. "Bella! Katherine! So glad you could make it. Right on time, too. The assessors are almost here."

I blinked twice as I looked at him. Watcher had been my father's attorney, until my father decided it was more useful to install him as a magistrate judge overseeing our corporate offices. I had been young when he was still alive, and he had been useful to sweep a few of my drunk driving accidents into the 'civil action' folder, where unimportant nobodies could be paid off with barely an inconvenience to me.

I stuck on the words, "When he was alive." Old Watcher had died years ago. I hadn't gone to the funeral, but as he was practically our family pet I did have one of my maids send a card, I believe.

Belle was missing, Watcher was dead, and we were standing in a 3-story rotunda in a 2-story building, in antebellum New Orleans. I fingered the necklace around my neck.

I had nothing to fear. I could stop this anytime I wanted.

Bella looked at me, "Come now, Katherine. Aren't you a tad curious about how this will play out?"

I was indeed. Turning, I let Watcher explain the plot.

"You see, Katherine, since your father died, your stepmother has made something of a kerfuffle. You're the oldest surviving heir, and the will leaves everything to you. However, your stepmother's son Sebastian is the oldest surviving MALE heir, and is claiming full rights to the Patterson Plantation and businesses, even though under the Napoleonic Code the estate should be split. To complicate matters further, your mother produced this letter, which confuses matters greatly."

I knew what the letter said before I opened it. Somewhere down the line, my grandfather had fathered several white children with one of his wenches when he was in Barbados. They were raised white, and returned to New Orleans, where they begat and begat and begat until eventually I was born.

The letter was 200 years newer, but it was the same letter in my family papers. The buried letter. The letter none of us talked about. It wouldn't do to have the Pattersons, the premium flesh peddlers in New Orleans, have a black sheep in their closet.

Curious, I'd had a DNA test done. The results were shocking. I was 12% black, which meant that there was more than one dalliance in my family tree. Apparently, the Patterson men, (and women) made free use of the inventory.

"There's nothing to worry about, my dear. As the judge, I will sign the papers certifying you are white. We can then be done with this foolishness. To make sure there is no question, I have brought in Colonel Lakewood, an expert from the assessor's office. Your bother Sebastian insisted on being present, which should make the results unimpeachable."

"What do you mean, "an assessor?" I protested, not liking the sound of this at all. "What exactly are they assessing?"

"Why you, my dear. They will need to ensure that you are entirely white, or to be more specific, don't violate the one drop rule. Any girl 1/16th black is legally black, and an African slave."

I blanched as Bella smiled. 1/16th! As I struggled to do the math in my head, Bella came to my aid. "That's 6 and 1/4 percent black, Katherine," she said, whispering the terrifying benchmark in my ear. Not a lot, but more than enough to make you black, in the eyes of the law."

"True, but I don't think we need to make a Supreme Court case out of this," Judge Watcher said. "After all, I've known Katherine since the day she was born. I will vouch for her, as will my clerk, Billy, and Colonel Lakewood. The purpose of tonight's visit is to get the forms filled out, and put the seal on them, so we can proceed with the divvying up of her father's property."

"I disagree," a voice from across the rotunda said. It took me a moment to place the tall, good looking young man with the blonde curly hair. I had seen him before, or at least his portrait, in our family's dining room. I guessed him to be about 24. What an odd thing it is to meet your long-deceased ancestors.