The Big Apple Posse

by Wendy R. Williams

A couple of hours later Amanda woke up and walked to the front of the motorhome.

  “Hey sleepy. Now that you are up, why don’t we stop and pick up some food at a drive through. I bet everyone is hungry by now,” said Solange.

  “Sure, did you decide how we were going to drive to Los Angeles?” asked Amanda.

  Solange was looking at a map (there was no GPS in the motorhome), “I think we might drive to Dallas and then to Oklahoma City and then take Interstate 40 which will take us almost to LA.”

  “I would have loved to have taken Interstate 20 out of Dallas and then Interstate 10 to LA, but 10 goes too close to the border of Mexico. It really is a shame because I would love to drive through West Texas, Las Cruces, and Tucson, but not this year,” said Michael.

  “That would be just our luck—to get caught up in a drug war. I think we have enough problems,” Amanda’s voice trailed off as she saw that Michael was about to start laughing. “And yes, I would love to stop for breakfast.

  Amanda walked back to the main part of the motorhome. They were driving through Shreveport. Amanda remembered reading that lots of movies were being filmed in Shreveport. But that, along with a whole lot of other things, was just too bad. There was no way they would be able to do any sightseeing on this trip. They were not tourists.

  Solange called to the back of the motorhome, “Hey, give me your orders and we will pull through a drive-through. All fast food is poison but we don’t have a choice. The three of you stay in back with the curtains drawn. The fewer people who see us, the better.”

  Amanda grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil and took down everyone’s breakfast order and gave it to Solange. Being a fugitive was good for developing organizational skills.

  They got their food and then Michael pulled the motorhome to the back of the parking lot and stopped. Solange and Michael then walked back into the interior of the motorhome to eat and talk.

  “I have been thinking about the trip. I don’t think we should stop at campgrounds because I bet people talk to each other at campgrounds. We stand out a lot more than we would have if Miss Gaby had been with us as our chaperone. We are an odd looking group—a young black couple traveling with three white kids,” said Michael.

  “Excuse me, when did I become white?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “Okay, a young black couple traveling with two white kids and one kid who looks like he is white but isn’t because he is too cool to be white,” replied Michael. “But we do need to be careful. The fewer people who ask about our business the better.”

  “But won’t you need to be at a campground to hook up the electricity and stuff? You don’t think we should just pull over and not have electricity, do you?” asked Amanda in horror.

  “I think we should stop at inexpensive motels that are off the interstate. We can get two rooms— girls and boys. That will give us a break from our gypsy caravan,” said Michael. “I will stop at a Walmart this afternoon so everyone can grab a bathing suit. Once we get out of Texas and head into the desert, it will be hot enough to swim at night.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” said Thibodeaux.

  Amanda groaned about yet another trip to Walmart, but she could not come up with a better plan so she just kept her mouth shut. Amanda then thought about how ever since the bombing, she had constantly been making detailed plans about how to live, how to be safe, what to do next only to change those plans the next instant. It was exhausting.

  So they set off, traveling all day and stopping at the Walmart just outside Dallas to stock up on bathing suits and anything else they needed. They had decided not to drive north to Oklahoma City and were instead taking an older route that went straight from Dallas to Amarillo. As they drove towards Amarillo, the trees just seemed to disappear. The land they were passing became ugly and barren, like something toxic had happened a long time ago.

  At about 6:30 p.m., they were passing Vernon, Texas and Michael pulled off the highway and drove past a Holiday Inn and a Super 8 Motel. Michael continued driving until he found a beat up looking old motel. The only thing the motel had to offer was a 1960’s era swimming pool, which was sheltered from the wind by dilapidated orange plastic fencing.

  “Why couldn’t we stay at that Holiday Inn?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “We need to avoid chain hotels because they have national databases that someone could search for a group of five people traveling together. And you have to use a credit card to check into a national motel and the fewer times we use credit, the smaller our trail. Sorry, but this is going to have to be it,” said Michael.

  Amanda looked at the motel. It was really tacky—tumble weeds the size of small Christmas trees had blown up against the rooms. There was an old neon sign out in front—the M was missing from the word Motel so the sign said Shady Acres otel. The place looked to be at least fifty years old and in need of a good bulldozer. Nevertheless, Michael went inside and rented two rooms for cash from the Indian couple in the office, asking to be as far away from the road as possible to eliminate noise. He then drove the Travco to the back of the motel and parked it, and they got out.

  Michael handed Solange the keys to the rooms, “Why don’t you take everyone inside and I will order food.”

  Solange walked over to look at the pool, “It may be old but it looks clean.” She stuck her toe in the water, “Hey, it’s not too cold.”

  Amanda took one of the keys from Solange’s hand and walked to one of the rooms and opened the door. It was just as bad as she had suspected. There were two beds with tacky Spanish looking headboards that she was pretty sure were not made of real wood. The bedspreads were some kind of red and gold pattern and the carpet was shaggy and red. Horrible, just horrible.

  But Amanda sighed and walked back out to the Travco and got her bag and brought it inside. Thinking that she might as well make the best of a bad situation, she changed into her new Walmart swimsuit and grabbing two too-small towels from the bathroom, she went outside and got in the pool which was surprisingly warm. Who would have thought that a place as tacky as this would have a heated swimming pool? There was some music playing in the background—a man singing about crying. Amanda had never heard him before, but he was a great singer. And the song certainly did fit. If there ever was a crying motel, this would be it.

  Soon, Peter, Thibodeaux, and Solange joined her in the pool. The sun had not quite set, there was still some light in the air. Michael had walked to the office to ask about ordering food and when he came back, he stood at the side of the pool watching them swim. Amanda was helping Solange, giving her tips about swimming technique. Peter was rolling his eyes at how bossy Amanda was and Thibodeaux was busy jumping from the diving board over and over again. Amanda did not care if she ever saw Vernon, Texas again, but for right now, it was a pretty nice place to be.

  “Who is that singing?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “That’s Roy Orbison. I asked about the music in the office and they said he was born here,” said Michael.

  “Well that gives this town something to brag about cuz this motel sure is not going to give anyone bragging rights,” said Thibodeaux.

  Amanda looked up from the pool at some of the people who were also checking into the motel. An old couple drove up in a beat up light blue Ford. They got out of the car. The man had on one of those vests with all the pockets and the woman was wearing a white tee shirt and some unfortunate turquoise flower print knit pants. They carried in their luggage and then they hauled out a huge red plastic cooler out of the trunk and carried it into their room. Then the man came back to get a sack of groceries that had a bag of potato chips and a six pack of Diet Coke sticking out of the top. This seemed to be the kind of place where people brought their own food because they could not afford to eat in restaurants.

  Next to arrive were four men who looked like they worked on a construction site. They got out of a beat up two-seater pickup truck with huge mud-spattered tires and a gun rack with a rifle in the back window. They were about to go into t
heir rooms but stopped when they saw Solange sitting on the edge of the pool. They walked over to the pool and Solange jumped in and swam away from them. The guys stood and watched her swim. Amanda could tell that Michael was very angry but he played it cool saying to Solange, “Honey, don’t you think it’s time to go back inside and feed the kids.”

  “Sure sweetie, I don’t want them too tired when they see my parents tomorrow,” replied Solange.

  The men looked at Solange and then at “the kids” with a perplexed look on their face, but then gave up and wandered back to their room.

  Seeing that they were gone, Amanda kept on swimming with her friends. Solange got out of the pool and was sitting on an old webbed lounge chair talking to Michael about the route they were going to take tomorrow when the men returned. This time they brought a couple of six packs of beer with them and sat down and started to stare at Solange again. And now they were staring at Amanda too. Without even speaking to each other, Amanda, Peter, and Thibodeaux got out of the pool and walked over to Solange and Michael who got up, and they all walked back to their rooms.

  As soon as they were inside their motel rooms, Solange opened the door between the room that she and Amanda were sharing and the room next door. She knocked and Thibodeaux opened the door to their room.

  “I think we should keep the doors open. We are probably just fine but after what happened in New Orleans, we really need to be careful,” said Solange.

  “I don’t like the way those guys were looking at you. And you two need to change out of your bathing suits.” Michael was trying very hard not to stare at Solange himself.

  “Hey, old men, young men, rednecks, they all look. They see a woman, they look,” replied Solange.

  “Nevertheless…,” said Michael.

  “I’m going to stay inside for the rest of the night.” Solange looked directly at Michael and laughed, “And yes, I will change out of my bathing suit.”

  The phone rang. It was the front desk telling Michael that their food had arrived. “Tell him to bring it to the room and I will pay him.”

  The delivery guy knocked on the door and Michael answered and paid him. While Michael was paying the man, Amanda looked out the open door to see that the guys were still sitting by the pool and drinking beer. They were also staring at Michael as he paid the deliveryman, trying to see inside the room.

  Michael put the food on top of the dresser. He had ordered barbecued chicken, rolls, potato salad, and slaw.

  “You do know I am a ballet dancer,” said Solange who was now dressed in a tee shirt and a pair of jean shorts that Amanda’s grandfather had bought for her.

  “Well, yes,” said Michael.

  “So how do you expect me to dance if I keep eating this kind of food. This stuff is poison,” said Solange.

  “But good poison,” replied Thibodeaux whose mouth was already smeared with barbeque sauce.

  “As soon as we get to Los Angeles, I am going to buy some tofu and raw vegetables and we are all going to detox,” said Solange.

  “Sure, we will do just that,” replied Michael as he finished his first piece of chicken.

  “Right,” said Solange giving up. This was a battle she would have to fight later on. So she put a small piece of chicken, one roll, and some cole slaw on her plate and sat down to eat. “Poison, just poison.”

  Absolutely no one was listening to her.

  The rest of the evening passed quietly, everyone stayed inside. The men who had stared at Solange were still sitting around the pool drinking beer. They had brought a boom box to the pool and were playing some country songs very loud, completely drowning out Roy Orbison. First Michael got on the computer (amazingly enough, the motel had wired internet access), emailing his father who was now using a brand new email address (having obtained a new internet account in the name of a friend who lived next door). Then Peter took the computer and spent the next few hours researching everything he could find on the internet about the bombings. Peter was on a mission now and Amanda knew he would not stop until he figured out just what was going on.

  Amanda turned on the TV in her room and saw that it did not work so she walked into the other room and tried that TV. It worked but when she turned it on using the remote, the first screen she saw was filled with directions on how to order porn. Amanda quickly turned off the TV. She did not want to risk accidentally hitting the wrong button and have Michael think she was ordering a dirty movie. She would never live that one down.

  There was obviously nothing for her to do so she walked back into her room and started to read the copy of The Hunger Games she had bought at Walmart. Pretty soon she was tired and got into bed after looking carefully to see if the sheets were clean. Solange came into the room and got into the other bed and they went to sleep.

  Suddenly Amanda heard a really loud noise from the door of her room and she quickly sat up in bed. Amanda heard Michael tell Thibodeaux and Peter to get in the bathroom and lock the door and then he came into their room with his gun in hand and went to the window to look out.

  Amanda stood behind Michael, looked out the window and saw it was the men from the pool. They were obviously drunk and were using a fence post as a battering ram to break down their door.

  Michael called out to them, “Go away, I am calling the police.”

  The Indian man who ran the motel came out with his cell phone in his hand. He saw what was going on and shouted at the men to stop, but the men were too drunk and they kept battering the door until it gave and two of them had run into the room before they saw that Michael had his gun aimed at them. They froze and then the first man spoke, “Hey chill man, I just wanted to talk to these little girls. We’ve been out on a job for a week and these are the first good looking women we’ve seen.”

  Amanda was frightened out of her mind and saw out the window that the other two men were going to their truck to get something which she bet was the rifle she saw in the back window.

  “They’re going to get the shotgun. Shoot one of them,” yelled Amanda. “Doesn’t matter which one, just shoot,” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

  The men turned to look at her and for the first time they looked scared.

  Solange looked at Amanda in shock but then she turned and yelled, “Yes, shoot that one right between the eyes. ”

  The two men quickly backed out of the room and headed to their truck to leave when suddenly the police arrived with sirens.

  Two cops got out armed with guns and shouted at the men, “Get down on the ground and put your hands above your, head.”

  Amanda went to the door and called out, “There are two more. They went to their truck to get their shotgun.”

  By then another cop car had arrived and the two cops who got out of that car, surrounded the truck and arrested the other two men.

  The manager came running up, “They broke the door to the room. They sat outside all night throwing beer cans in the pool and playing loud music. I want you to arrest all of them.”

  One of the cops walked into the room where Amanda, Michael, and Solange were standing. When he saw the cops arrive, Michael had slipped his gun under one of the beds.

  “Did they hurt any of you?” asked the cop.

  “No, I think they were just drunk and raising hell. They thought this was their room and they had lost their key,” said Michael.

  “They what?” asked the cop. “You saying they were not trying to hurt any of you? They weren’t after these girls.”

  “I don’t think so. Just a bunch of drunks who lost their key and forgot which room they were staying in and thought it would be funny to break down the door,” replied Michael.

  “Well, give me your information and let me know how to reach you just in case. We know these fellas; one of them is one of my deputy’s brother-in-law. He lives in the next town over and he is always getting into trouble. We’ll throw them in jail overnight, let the judge lock them up for a bit, see if that sobers them up,” said the cop.

>   Michael pulled out his Louisiana driver’s license and showed it to the cop. He then gave the cop a fake phone number.

  The cop took one more look around the room, staring at Solange and Amanda. Amanda thought that he must know there was more to the story, but maybe he just didn’t want to investigate too much. He did say that they knew those guys and this was a small town.

  “Where are you headed?” asked the cop.

  “My wife and I are counselors at a drama camp at the University of Texas and we are taking three of our most promising students to Los Angeles for pilot season,” replied Michael.

  Amanda was really glad that she was wearing the tee shirt that said University of Texas Summer Arts program.

  “For what?” asked the cop.

  “Pilot season. It’s when all the shows hold auditions for actors. These kids are very talented and so is my wife,” said Michael.

  “But you have a Louisiana address on your driver’s license,” said the cop.

  “We are from Baton Rouge, but we go to school at the University of Texas in Austin,” replied Michael.

  The cop took one more look at them. “Well good luck with that, whatever it is. If I were you, I would leave town now. Those guys have friends and you probably shouldn’t be sticking around even if all they were doing was trying to break into what they thought was their own room…” the cop’s voice trailed off. He obviously did not believe them but wanted this problem to go away which meant they had better leave.

  “Good idea,” said Michael.

  As soon as the cop left, Michael propped the door shut with a chair and grabbed his gun and took it into the other room as he said, “Amanda, Solange, get all of your gear and come next door where we can lock the door and get dressed. We need to leave now before those drunks tell the cops that I have a gun,” said Michael.

  Michael stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at Amanda, “Why were you screaming to me to shoot one of them? I thought you did not believe in violence.”

  “I don’t. I knew you wouldn’t fire the gun. But if they guys thought I was crazy, they would think you might be too and they would leave,” said Amanda.