by Kira Saito
“What the hell?” I said, as I peered into a full length mirror and saw that I was dressed in a lavish red silk moiré ball gown. Its lush fabric was gorgeous and unbelievably soft. However, the bodice was so tight that it felt like it was going to squish my puny body to death. My dark hair had been carefully arranged in an intricate updo and my olive skin was caked with so much makeup that I looked almost unrecognizable even to myself. My cheeks had been sculpted with blush so that they looked radiant and higher than they actually were. Layers of heavy mascara and eyeliner gave my eyes more of a catlike shape and a deep wine red lipstick exaggerated the fullness of my lips.
“Don’t you look stunning?” said Ivan, as he came up from behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. Dressed in a black waist coat, crisp white shirt and red necktie, he looked clean, presentable, and, I had to grudgingly admit, handsome. His blond hair had been brushed so that it almost gleamed and his ever-present stubble was missing. However, his earthy cologne was overpowering and intimidating.
“It’s Charles Worth,” he said referring to the ball gown. “He’s all the rage in Paris right now, so of course, the crème de la crème of New Orleans have to wear anything made by him.”
I turned to face him, appalled by his very presence and arrogant attitude. “What have you done? Where are we? And why am I wearing all of this ridiculous makeup?” I asked, as I tried to take off a layer or two of the hideous paint that was plastered on my face.
“You’ve got stones in your pass way. Poor baby. You should have really paid more attention during those study sessions you had with your aunt instead of slobbering over Ken. Now, turn around, I have a present for you.”
My hand itched. It itched with a rage so vicious that I felt like ripping his head off, but where would that get me? I took a deep breath and turned to face the mirror.
He clasped a heavy foliate design sapphire and diamond necklace around my neck. It was so beautiful that I had to momentarily appreciate its attention to detail and the way it shimmered under the light.
“We can’t let you walk around this place without the finest jewels, can we now? God forbid you don’t have the right jewels, the right dress or that you say the wrong thing. That would cause a social scandal and cheapen you altogether,” he said, as he placed diamond earrings into my ears. “You have to remember, people only see what they want and that will never change.”
“How is that relevant to any of this? What does that even mean? And where are we?” I asked as calmly and patiently as I could under the circumstances.
He twirled me around so that we were face to face. The look in his eyes was familiar; almost comforting and strangely sincere. I’d seen it someplace before but at that second for the life of me I couldn’t place it. “We’re at a respectable little dive I used to frequent after I got this body.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he walked over to the wooden table, filled two crystal glasses with whiskey and handed me one. “Drink up, queen. You’re going to need it.”
“I thought you were a vodka man,” I said, as I took the glass from his hand and chugged back the liquid.
He shrugged. “I like to switch it up.”
Calm. Calm. That’s right, Arelia. You need to be calm to survive whatever this is.
I took a deep breath and composed myself. “Where are we?”
“I invited you to dinner, remember? We’re having dinner,” he responded as if it were the obvious answer.
“I told you I wasn’t hungry. But since I don’t have a choice, where are we having dinner?” I asked through clenched teeth.
He smiled and poured himself some more whiskey. “So impatient.” He drank the whiskey quickly and then stared at me. “Welcome to the St. Charles hotel, circa 1853. After the first one burnt down in an unfortunate fire, they replaced it with this joint. Not too shabby, right?”
“1853? The St. Charles Hotel? How? Why?”
I frantically scanned the room and ran to the window. Outside, I saw speedy horse cart and street vendors selling rice calas and pralines. Elegantly dressed men and women wandered the muddy streets while stray animals feasted on the scraps that littered the ground. Given the fact that I saw a death cart or two, it was obvious that this wasn’t present day New Orleans. I opened the window and sniffed the air. It smelt like manure, death and burnt animal skins.
“Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!” shouted a death cart driver.
I felt Ivan behind me so I turned to him. “Why are we here?”
Ivan placed his arm around me and I tried my best not to cringe or push him away in utter disgust. There was a heavy, almost dismal silence, and when he spoke his voice was distant and wistful. “This hotel was the first of its kind when it was constructed. It was the epitome of progress and advancement, and representative of everything the new world had to offer. Every day, thousands of people flocked to it in hopes of experiencing a glimpse of the luxury the richest city in the United States had to offer. Planters came here with their families to eat the finest foods and take part in balls that lasted well until dawn. Anybody who was anybody in America gathered here to show off their wealth, and of course inevitably hook up with one another. When I first heard of this hotel I was so eager and excited. I figured that despite the horrors I’d been through, the world was finally progressing and I could somehow let go of everything I’d been through. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I had to agree that the room was amazing. “You used to come here. After you…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence or look at him.
“Yes. After I woke up in this body, I learned the fine art of pickpocketing and managed to look respectable enough to blend in with the fabulously wealthy.”
“Why?”
He shrugged but didn’t say anything.
“How did you feel when you changed bodies? How did it feel?” I didn’t know how to ask what I wanted to ask.
“You know those people on TV who get all these extreme makeovers and go on crazy diets hoping that it’ll somehow give them what they’re looking for and solve all of their problems?”
I nodded.
“I got the biggest makeover of my life and it didn’t solve a damn thing. Nothing.”
“Do you ever wonder whose body that is? Have you tried to figure it out?”
“Does it really matter? Your soul still remembers the abuse it’s been through. There’s no erasing that. It follows you around.”
“You still feel like a slave, don’t you?” I whispered. “You don’t feel good enough…Inside you feel empty and disappointed. That’s why you’re always so angry.”
He sighed. “You should really ask for a refund on those online psychology courses you’re taking. They aren’t helping any, queen.”
“Why are we here?” I asked again. This time I forced myself to make eye contact with him.
He smiled widely and slowly ran his fingers through his hair. “I already told you, I swear you don’t listen. We’re having dinner.”
“I swear you don’t listen, I don’t want dinner.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the door. “You’re so stubborn. Of course you want to have dinner with me.”
Chapter 14
Dinner at the St. Charles Hotel
“Isn’t this just magnificent?” asked Ivan in that sarcastic tone of his, as we stood in the middle of a vast and extravagant dining hall.
What I saw was beyond magnificent. It was absolutely breathtaking and grandiose. I never thought I’d ever use the word grandiose but that’s exactly what it was. Three long dining tables sat in the middle of the spacious room while five gigantic and impressively ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling and bathed the room in a soft and merry glow. Laughter and Verdi mingled with conversations about stocks and the latest Parisian fashions.
Hundreds of beautiful women in exquisitely embellished ball gowns and finely detailed jewelry seductively sipped
champagne. Each dress was more stunning than the next and each woman more lovely than the other. If Sabrina were there she would have freaked. They swirled around me with effortless grace and beauty while groups of well-dressed, handsome men hovered around them and tried to win their attention. It was an enchanted fairytale that consisted of soft lights, pretty colors and dazzling jewels.
Long white candles illuminated the endless number of succulent dishes that occupied the tables. My mouth literally started to water at the irresistible arrangement of food. The scent of butter, stewed tomatoes and rich broths lingered in the air and for a split second I forgot where I was and who I was with. Why was I so easily distracted? Focus, Arelia, forget about the food.
“I see you drooling, queen. The food in this place is prepared by a maître de cuisine from Paris,” he said, as he grabbed a menu from a nearby waiter and handed it to me.
Out of sheer curiosity I took the menu from him; which, by the way, was the size of a newspaper; and glanced through it: Snails Bourguignon, Ailerons de dindon au celeri, Stuffed crabs, Fried oysters, Creole Onion Soup, crawfish court bouillon, shrimp etouffee. My mouth started to water as I read through the seemingly endless list.
“I thought you weren’t hungry,” said Ivan, as he eyed me.
“Well since you insist on feeding me, who am I to argue?” I felt so cool and collected saying those words. In reality, my palms were sweaty and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t foolish enough to think that we were there just for dinner.
I had vowed never to underestimate Ivan again and I had no intention of doing, so but letting him know I was terrified beyond belief would only give him more power over me. I refused to let him hold all of the cards. Who did he think he was? He expected me to be all predictable by breaking down. That’s what he wanted. He wanted to me to break down and shatter into a million pieces. Well tonight he wasn’t going to get the satisfaction. I would eat. I would smile but I would not cry. All the many, many layers of mascara on my lashes would stay firmly in place.
“Have a seat,” he said, as he pulled out a chair for me from under one of the tables.
Reluctantly, I sat down and was immediately taken aback by the fact that there were golden knives, forks and spoons in front of me. I picked up a knife and held it to the light. “Who lives like this?” I asked in wonder. “Who actually uses golden utensils?”
“Prince Charming,” said Ivan, as he pulled up a seat beside me. “Here, drink up.” He handed me a flute of champagne, which I gladly accepted. Anything to distract me from the surreal events that were taking place around me. “So what are you in the mood for?” he asked.
I let out a frustrated sigh. “His name is Lucus and I’ll have the Creole Onion Soup, snail’s bourguignon and some fried oysters too.” I randomly picked items off of the menu. I figured since I was in one of the most luxurious hotels of all time, circa 1853 New Orleans, rather than a grimy slave cabin, I might as well try the food first and then continue to fight with Ivan afterwards.
“Why are you always so hungry, queen?” asked Ivan, as he watched me gobble down a snail.
I looked at him. “Is it a crime to be hungry?”
“No, but I know your type of hunger. The type that is never satisfied because you’re afraid that one day there’s going to be no more food.”
I let out a low sigh. “No, you’re wrong. If you ever bothered enjoying something instead of being bitter all the time, you’d see that sometimes you have to appreciate the little things and savor them. You haven’t even tried a snail. Yummy- look, buttery goodness,” I said, as I held up a snail in front of his lips.
He didn’t crack a smile. He simply shook his head and continued to drink his champagne.
We ate in utter silence and with every delicious bite I could feel myself slipping further and further into darkness. For a split second I remembered that my actual body was still sitting in a spiritual bath in Darkwood; how long would it stay there? I needed to find my way back home, and fast.
Chapter 15
After-Dinner Drinks and Dancing
“I had dinner with you, now let me go,” I said, as soon as I finished the last fried oyster.
Ivan stood up and took my hand. “I’m in the mood for some after-dinner drinks and dancing. Are you thirsty, queen?”
“After-dinner drinks?”
“Yeah. It’ll be super fun, I promise,” he grinned and his grey eyes gleamed mischievously.
I knew he was purposely dragging out the whole thing. I felt like kicking him and running away, but that wasn’t exactly a very mature plan, and plus where would I go? I had no supplies here and Erzulie was forcing me to work with other spirits. Who would I call? A hopeful part of me prayed that Ivan was just bored and maybe this was his way of passing a rainy night. I knew I was beyond immature for thinking that but I was kind of out of options. At least agreeing to drinks would give me time to think and strategize. I needed to come up with a plan, and fast.
“Okay,” I nodded, as I followed him out of the dining room and down an opulent, smoke-filled hall.
“Here we are,” said Ivan, as we entered an enormous octagon-shaped barroom. Even though I was horrid at math, I estimated the room to be seventy feet wide and almost twenty feet high. In other words, it was massive and intimidating. As I examined the looming Ionic columns that circled the area, I felt so small and tiny; almost like a minuscule ant that could be squished at any second.
“Welcome to progress,” said Ivan.
I held my hands and inhaled the air, which was filled with cigar smoke and exotic accents. Elegant men and woman sipped champagne, whiskey, Sezeracs and what appeared to be St. Charles Punch. Conversations about stocks, theatre, fashion and politics were everywhere in fluent French, Spanish, and English. Couples danced in a refined fashion to the grand piano music that invigorated the atmosphere. The whole scene was almost overwhelming to the point of being excessive.
Ivan took my hand into his. “Let’s go for a spin on the dance floor.”
It’s not like I had a choice or anything, so I followed him. We started to move and Ivan let out a small laugh. “You’re such a bad dancer.”
“I know, and yet you still want to dance with me,” I said, as my eyes met his.
He smirked. “I bet you’re thinking about how your feet are moving. Being all paranoid.”
“No. I’m wondering what we’re doing here. Now that dinner is over, enough with the suspense. Let me in on why you brought me here. Oh wait, don’t tell me- you just wanted to see me dolled up in a ball gown.”
“Prince Charming has given you quite the ego, hasn’t he? We’re here to watch a show.”
“Show?” I asked.
“Yeah. It’s gonna be fun.”
“What kind of show?”
“I show that I used to preform in.”
“You used to be an actor?”
“I did. I played the part they wanted me to play.”
“That’s pretty cryptic.”
He smiled as he led me towards the bar.
“What would the lady like to drink?” he asked.
“A St. Charles Punch,” I said quietly, as the sinking feeling in my stomach returned. I felt my throat get dry as goosebumps crawled up my bare arms.
“How much are you worth, queen?” asked Ivan, as he handed me the flamboyant cocktail. “How much is your box worth?”
A took a huge gulp of the sweet cocktail and tried to make sense of his question. “You can’t put a price on a person,” I said firmly.
He pinched my cheek and took a sip of his Sezerac. “You’re so cute sometimes. Come on now, it’s starting.”
Chapter 16
The Show
We entered a large room that was located a few steps above the barroom. Like the space below, it was massive, and consisted of a shiny marble floor leading up to an elevated platform that served as some kind of stage. Directly above the stage there was a gigantic cover that was propped up by thic
k Corinthian-style columns. The wall directly behind the stage was covered in a mural of some sort.
To the left side of the stage there was a long table where a group of serious-looking men sat. Given the fact that they were absorbed in the mountains of papers that were in front of them, I assumed they were directors, writers or producers. Perhaps investors?
The audience consisted of roughly two hundred people, mostly men. Some were smoking; others were casually reading newspapers or deep in conversation with the person next to them.
“What kind of show is this?” I asked. Clearly we weren’t here for the opera or some Shakespeare. For a second I actually livened up and thought it would be a Moulin Rouge-type number. However, given the vibe I got from the crowd, it was highly unlikely that they were into musicals.
“Let’s have a seat,” said Ivan, as he ignored my question and made himself comfortable on a wooden chair. Reluctantly, I sat down and looked at the stage. As it lit up, the chatter of the crowd grew louder and the smoke thicker.
I noticed a few disgustingly grimy men who loitered in front of the stage. With their tobacco stained mouths, dirty clothes, and red noses, they were totally out of place amongst the well-dressed guests. Were they actors?
“It’s starting,” whispered Ivan in morbid excitement.
One by one men, women and children started to march out on stage. All of them were well-dressed. The men wore matching black suits, top hats, and crisp white shirts. Their shoes gleamed under the stage lights and their skin, which ranged in tone from ivory to ebony, shone as if it had just been freshly scrubbed and waxed. The women, who were equally as refined, wore matching blue dresses with long sleeves and matching headscarves. They arranged themselves in groups according to their gender and height. From the tallest to the smallest. The men stood on one end of the stage while the women stood on the other.