The Big Apple Posse

by Wendy R. Williams

  Amanda looked at Solange with her mouth slightly agape. How could Solange think they were going to be fine? Well, Auntie Camille, sure did not look like she was worrying about them. She was flying off to Jamaica and leaving them in a strange city with only her seventeen year old daughter to look after them.

  Amanda walked outside and stood between the two cars while Solange loaded her duffle bags into her car. She could overhear Michael talking to his Dad. They were on the other side of the Escalade from Amanda so she knelt down pretending she was tying her shoe so she could listen. They were talking softly but she could hear Michael saying, “I don’t think this is a good idea. They are children and two are girls, really pretty girls. I know Solange is seventeen but that just means she is legal jail bait. That little blonde girl is thirteen and a real looker. Guys will be all over her. The boys will be away at school most of the week, but how am I supposed to take care of two teenage girls?”

  Amanda stayed crouched down and pretend-tied her other shoe. She overheard Mr. Trudeau speaking to Michael in a very soft voice. “Camille is not really just leaving them alone. She has a lot of family and friends that Solange can call if she is in any trouble. The lady who owns the shop downstairs is a friend of Auntie Tina’s and Camille’s. But Camille does not want any of you to act like you know that lady, so if anything happens, no one will think she has any information. And I’m going to get a Louisiana carry permit for you tonight so you don’t have to worry about the gun. I have friends in law enforcement and I will tell them that you are in town scouting hip-hop music and need protection,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “But if there is no adult here who can live with them, don’t you think we should just call the FBI and let them take care of them instead of leaving them with me and a teenager?” asked Michael.

  “But I already explained that to you. There must be a leak at the FBI. How else did they find them in New Jersey? That’s why Tina, and Amanda and Peter’s mother, Melanie, agreed that we should move them ourselves and not tell the FBI where we were taking them,” said Mr. Trudeau. “Tina and Melanie are going to call the FBI and tell them that they have made arrangements to keep their children safe and that they will return to New York in June, the week before the trial.”

  “But how am I going to make them listen to me?” asked Michael.

  “Well, you’ll just have to figure that one out. Since you are taking care of them, they’ll have to do what you tell them to do. It won’t be hard. They are just kids,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  Amanda could not see him, but she could imagine the look on Michael’s face.

  Amanda got up quickly as she heard Michael and Mr. Trudeau walking around the car. She had her back to them but she could hear them stop and knew they were staring at her. Amanda ignored them and told Solange, “I’m ready now,” and she walked over to Solange’s car.

  Solange’s car was a green Toyota Camry that looked like it was about ten years old. Everyone climbed in, the boys in back and Amanda up front. Solange drove the car out onto a street that was filled with antebellum homes. Solange put a hip-hop CD into her player. The artist was someone Amanda did not know.

  “Who’s that on the CD?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “One of my friends, he is performing on Monday too,” said Solange.

  “Too?” Amanda asked, but Solange did not answer.

  “Where are we?” asked Peter.

  “In a few minutes we will drive through the Garden District of New Orleans. But we are going to live on Magazine Street which will be a lot of fun. There are lots of shops and restaurants and bars that play really cool music,” said Solange.

  “Bars, we can’t go into bars,” said Amanda.

  “Sometimes I sing at night, the boys will be in school, but I will have to take you with me,” said Solange.

  “Sing?’ asked Amanda.

  “I am going to be a dancer, but I also like to sing. I have been singing ever since I was a kid and I joined the Baptist Church choir. We are supposed to be Catholic, but the Catholics don’t have their singing down. But my singing is just for fun. Armand and I are auditioning for a lot of New York dance schools and companies. We both want to go to Juilliard to study dance,” said Solange.

  “Who is Armand?” asked Amanda.

  “Armand is my boyfriend. Here’s his photo,” said Solange as she handed Amanda her phone. “Don’t talk too much about the dance auditions in front of Miss McMartin. She thinks we are going to stay in New Orleans and dance with her dance company.”

  “Who is Miss McMartin?” asked Amanda.

  “She owns the dance school. You better be nice to Miss McMartin because she is very strict. She hits the floor with a big stick to keep the rhythm,” said Solange.

  “But I am not a dancer and I don’t want to take dance lessons,” said Amanda.

  “Sorry about the dancing babe, but that’s your cover. You and your cute brother moved to New Orleans to get away from a bad divorce, plus you are supposed to want to be a ballerina and have some talent. But don’t worry about the talent part. I will teach you the basics in the next few days and then you will just need to fake it,” said Solange

  “Armand is hot,” said Amanda as she handed back Solange’s cell phone with its photo of a good-looking black teenager wearing a tee shirt from some band that Amanda did not recognize.

  “He’s my sweetie,” said Solange.

  “So, Peter and I don’t go to school this week?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “You start on Wednesday this week. We are going to be really busy up until then,” said Solange. “Monday is Lundi Gras or Fat Monday. There is an all day party down by the river and I am supposed to sing. Sorry, but I told them I would do this before anyone knew you would be coming. Then Tuesday is Mardi Gras and we are going to march in the second line of the Zulu Parade, all the dancers from my ballet school are going to march together. It will give Amanda a chance to make some friends before she starts ballet school.”

  “What is a second line and why are we marching in a parade? We are supposed to be hiding,” said Amanda.

  “Honey, by the time you put on your costume and your face paint, even I won’t recognize you,” said Solange. “It will be easy—you just dance down the road and have fun. Just stay close so I can watch you,” said Solange.

  “But what is a second line?” asked Peter.

  “The Zulu Krewe marches first. They have floats and marching bands. The second line of ‘anyone who wants to march’ follows the first part of the parade. We get all dressed up and dance the New Orleans two step while we wave handkerchiefs or twirl umbrellas. We have our own musicians and we stop at bars along the way and listen to music. The bars will have bands outside on the sidewalk. I am supposed to sing in front of Bella’s when we pass it,” said Solange.

  “Does Michael know about any of this?” asked Peter.

  “Not yet. I’ll tell him. I don’t have a costume for him but not everyone in the second line wears a costume. Besides, you three are the only ones who need to be in disguise,” said Solange. “But don’t worry. Right now we just need to get you settled. We have one day before Lundi Gras. “

  “But we are fugitives!” said Amanda.

  “That’s right and that is why no one will think to look for you are the Lundi Gras Party or look for you marching in the Zulu Parade,” said Solange. “Just wait till you see your costumes and face paint.”

  Amanda decided to quit talking and just look out the window. She knew her mother would not approve of any of the plans that Solange had made for them. Amanda herself did not approve of what Solange was doing, even if Solange was one of the prettiest and most cheerful girls Amanda had ever met. But Amanda also knew that she was in no position to protest, so she would just watch Peter carefully to be sure he was okay, that is if she could figure out how to watch him while he was marching in a Mardi Gras parade or at a Catholic boarding school.

  Solange turned onto Magazine Street, a funky street filled with coffee shops, an
tique and clothing stores, and bars. She drove down about three blocks and then turned into a driveway and pulled behind a large two story colonial home that had a women’s clothing shop on the first floor. In the back was a wooden stairway that led up to second floor veranda. Solange pulled her car up into one of the parking spots and got out. Michael was following them in the Escalade and he also parked.

  “Hey kids, let’s unload Mr. Trudeau’s car,” said Solange as Michael and Mr. Trudeau got out of their vehicle.

  Amanda, Peter, Solange, and Michael with a little help from Mr. Trudeau carried all of the boxes to the upstairs porch. There were two doors on the back upstairs porch and Solange pulled keys from her pocket and opened both. “Hey kids, you go into the apartment on the right, it has two bedrooms and Michael, you get the one bedroom apartment all to yourself. There is an extra coffee pot and some mugs in one of the boxes in your apartment, but you should probably plan on eating with us unless you want to go shopping for pots and pans and dishes.”

  Solange handed Michael two sets of keys. “Here are keys to both our apartment and yours.”

  Solange then handed keys to the larger apartment to Amanda, Thibodeaux, and Peter

  Amanda opened the door to the apartment on the right and walked in. She was in a bedroom which had two twin beds with brand new Ikea mattresses and a couple of old battered wood dressers. Amanda walked through the apartment. The back bedroom led to a hallway that had a door that opened to another smaller bedroom with two more new twin beds and another old dresser. Further down the hallway she saw a bathroom with a claw foot tub with a shower head that looked like it was added long after the tub was installed. There was also a bare-bones kitchen with ancient cabinets, an old gas stove, and no dishwasher. At the front of the apartment, overlooking Magazine Street, was the living room, the prettiest room in the apartment. The living room had two old floral print upholstered sofas, an old wood dining room table and chairs that looked like some of the furniture she had seen at Colonial Williamsburg, just a lot more beat up. There was also a brand new wide screen TV, a Blu-Ray player, iPod doc, and a laptop with a printer. The living room had large windows on both sides and French doors leading to a large balcony porch overlooking Magazine Street. Amanda looked out the door at the front balcony and saw an old wicker couch with faded floral cushions and a dark metal table with a glass top and four metal chairs.

  Amanda continued looking carefully around the apartment and she saw them—altars to the same Gods and Goddesses that Amanda had seen in Auntie Tina and Auntie Camille’s home. And as soon as Solange put down her bags, she lit some incense sticks and put them in holders next to the altars. “It gets rid of the bad juju,” said Solange.

  “Good, I am glad you are taking care of that,” replied Amanda.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just an old family custom. We don’t curse people or do anything weird,” said Solange.

  “That’s good to know,” replied Amanda.

  Amanda walked out onto the balcony and looked down on the street and suddenly for the first time in days she began to feel okay. The rain had stopped and the street gleamed, light radiating off pools of standing water. The street was filled with quirky colorful shops, bars and restaurants as far down as she could see. And off in the distance she saw a rainbow, hovering over the City of New Orleans. Peter and Thibodeaux walked out on the balcony and stood on either side of her. Amanda put her arms around both of them and for once Peter did not try to pull away. Amanda looked at them and said, “I think we are going to be okay.”

  Chapter IV

  Saturday night, Michael left so he could drive his father on some errands and then drop him off at Auntie Camille’s for the night. Before he left, he told them, “I don’t want you to go anywhere tonight. I have to run errands with my Dad. We need to find someone to drive him back to New York City since he can’t fly without showing a photo ID. Dad figured that if someone would drive him back to New York, he could be dropped at a train station and then he could take a subway train to his home. And we also need to change the license plates on the Escalade just in case the FBI put out an alert for the car. My Dad has some contacts here that can help me with a carry permit and I need to pick up some security alarms and cameras to install in your apartment. So I’ve got a pretty full night.”

  “Security cameras?” asked Amanda.

  “For the doors and windows, not the bathroom,” said Michael.

  “Oh,” answered Amanda.

  “That was a joke,” replied Michael.

  Amanda looked Michael straight in the eyes and said, “I know that.” She was tired of people saying she had no sense of humor. But if people wanted her to laugh, they better start being funny. And nothing about having to hide from both the crooks and the FBI was very funny.

  After Michael and Mr. Trudeau left—after a round robin of hugs (Amanda thought she had never seen a family that big on hugs)—Solange left them in the apartment while she ran down the street and picked up some food. She returned with burgers and salad and said, “Normally, I’m a big foodie but we can make an exception for one night.”

  “What’s a foodie?” asked Amanda.

  “I eat organic food and it has to be very fresh,” said Solange.

  Amanda proceeded to eat her burger.

  The rest of the night was filled with unpacking, making beds and stocking the bathrooms with towels, soap, and shampoo. Amanda thought that this was a little like summer camp, but summer camp with bars down the street, some kind of Voodoo or Santeria (she wasn’t sure which one) art projects, and an armed guard in the cabin next door

  Amanda and Solange moved into the back, larger bedroom, the one with access to the back stairway to the parking lot and Thibodeaux and Peter, who would only be at the apartment on weekends, took the smaller interior bedroom.

  Sunday morning, Solange woke everyone up at 8 a.m. and Amanda, Peter, and Thibodeaux piled into Solange’s car and they drove to the home of Miss Elinor, a friend of Auntie Camille’s who was a beautician. Miss Elinor lived in a run-down apartment building about fifteen minutes away. After they were seated in Miss Elinor’s kitchen, Solange pointed to Amanda and Peter and said, “These are the kids Mom told you about, my cousins from Chicago, Amanda and Peter. Their parents are getting divorced and my Auntie Estelle, their mother, wants us to hide them here in New Orleans because their father is a jerk.

  “What can you do to make them look a little different?’ asked Solange.

  Miss Elinor looked at Amanda and Peter carefully, “These are your cousins?” she asked.

  “Well, they’re second cousins and they are mixed,” said Solange.

  “Well, I can’t do too much about the boy since his hair is so light and no boy will want to keep getting touch ups and he will look strange with blond roots. But I can cut his hair shorter,” said Miss Elinor.

  “That works because he will be attending St. Barnabus and all their students have to have short hair. You can cut Thibodeaux’s hair too because he is also going to be attending St. Barnabus. Thibodeaux is my first cousin and he has been living in Baton Rouge since the flood,” said Solange.

  “Hey man, I don’t want short hair,” said Thibodeaux. “I’m in the hip-hop business and need to look the part.”

  “Well, I’m not a man, and if you are going to attend St. Barnabus, you will have to look the part of a student at a Catholic boys school,” said Miss Elinor.

  Solange looked intently at Thibodeaux and said, “We will discuss this later.”

  “What can you do with her?” asked Solange pointing at Amanda.

  “She’s easy, I can make her a redhead,” said Miss Elinor.

  “What, I don’t want to have red hair!” said Amanda.

  Solange gave Amanda a very stern look. “You need to listen to Miss Elinor and do what she says.”

  “I’ll start with Amanda because her hair will take more time than the boys. I can work them in while her hair is processing,” said Miss Elinor.

  S
olange turned to look at Thibodeaux, “Here is a twenty dollar bill. Why don’t you and Peter go down the block and get breakfast for everyone. May we bring anything for you, Miss Elinor?”

  “No, I’m fine honey. There is some chicory coffee in the pot,” said Miss Elinor.

  “Chicory?” asked Amanda.

  “It’s a New Orleans thing. During the Civil War, we did not have enough coffee because the North blockaded the harbor. So folks put chicory in the coffee to make it last. It kind of caught on and we are still drinking it,” said Miss Elinor.

  “I’ll try some,” said Amanda.

  Peter and Thibodeaux left the apartment and Miss Elinor gave both Solange and Amanda a cup of chicory coffee with a lot of milk. Amanda took one sip and quickly put down her coffee cup.

  Miss Elinor began mixing the hair dye as Amanda sat quietly on a kitchen chair, wondering again how her life had become so bizarre.

  Solange’s phone rang and she picked it up. “Oh hi Michael. I did not think you would be up this early.”

  Solange listened quietly for a moment, “I took the kids to the apartment of one of my Mom’s friends. She is a beautician and she is working on their hair… Sorry, I guess I should have told you we were leaving, but I did not see you last night and I…. Okay, I’ll tell you where we are going from now on.”

  Solange gave Michael the address of where they were. “I will see you in a few minutes.” Solange hung up the phone.

  “Who was that?” asked Miss Elinor.

  “Michael, he is a friend of the family. He lives next door and he is supposed to help look after us now that Mom is out of town,” said Solange.

  “You know, I don’t approve of your Mom just leaving town and leaving you with three kids,” said Miss Elinor.

  “I’m not alone. Father Francis will be checking in on us and the boys will board at his school so it will just be me and my girl here,” said Solange pointing at Amanda. “You can’t tell anyone about these kids. Their father is a real jerk.”