The Big Apple Posse Trilogy

by Williams , Wendy R

  “Oh,” said Amanda. Amanda thought about what Thibodeaux just said. She had never thought of Auntie Tina as being rich.

  Around 4 p.m. on Saturday, the fourth day of their journey, Amanda, Peter and Thibodeaux were riding in the car in a stupor when Michael pulled up in front of an old house in the city of New Orleans. It had been raining all day and it was chilly and damp outside. The house had two stories with a balcony topping the front porch and a nice big yard both front and back, but all of it looked a bit worse for wear—the paint was peeling and vines had crept up the sides of the house and were partially covering some of the windows. The house was still beautiful, however, even if it looked like the trees and vines were trying to eat it. Huge live oak and magnolia trees filtered out what little sun there was, turning the huge yard into a mosaic of shadows. Flowery vines covered the fence, crept across the driveway and climbed up the pillars on the front porch. Michael pulled behind the house, out of sight of the street. Amanda could see a vegetable garden at the back of the lot and a rustic chicken coop with some exotic chickens. They got out of the car and walked up to the back door and Mr. Trudeau knocked.

  Amanda turned and looked back at the yard with its overhanging moss, creeping vines and smell of damp grass and decaying flowers. It looked like a movie set, but perhaps a movie set for a film her mother would not allow her to watch.

  The door was answered by a beautiful black woman who appeared to be in her forties. She was wearing jeans and a white lace tunic accessorized with multiple gold chains and bracelets, many of which were embellished with colored stones and exotic carvings. “Benedicte, how are you? It’s always great to see you. And this must be Michael, my you’ve grown. Hey, kids, you come into this house. I’m Camille Montplasir, Auntie Tina’s niece. You can call me Auntie Camille. Thibodeaux, come here you sweet thing.” Auntie Camille gave Thibodeaux and Mr. Trudeau a big hug and then she led them through the kitchen and dining room to the house’s living room. Auntie Camille paused at the bottom of the stairway and called, “Solange, honey, come down and greet our guests.”

  “I’ll be down in just a minute,” said a voice from up the stairs.

  “Sit down. Take a load of your feet,” said Auntie Camille. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Coke,” said Amanda, Peter, and Thibodeaux together.

  “Please,” added Amanda. “May I help you?”

  “No, you sit down. The three of you look practically dead from that car ride,” said Auntie Camille.

  “I sure do know why they invented airplanes,” said Peter.

  Amanda looked around the house and thought, this certainly was the home of Auntie Tina’s niece. Auntie Tina’s apartment in Harlem had been filled with little altars and statues of Gods and Goddesses that Amanda had never seen before. Camille had some of the same artifacts and Amanda had seen some small stone bowls filled with herbs and colored powders on the kitchen counter. They could not all be for cooking, because who uses blue powder to prepare food? Amanda really wished she had asked Auntie Tina just what she was doing with all the Voodoo and Santeria looking stuff while Auntie Tina stayed with them in Greenwich. But she had been too scared to ask about the art and certainly too scared to ask why Auntie Tina kept chickens in the apartment next to hers. But now that she was in New Orleans in another home filled with strange statues and herbs and with chickens out back, Amanda wished she had found the courage and asked.

  Just then Solange walked down the stairs and Amanda, Peter, and Michael stopped what they were doing and stared. Solange was one of the most beautiful girls Amanda had ever seen. She had coffee-with-cream colored skin and her hair was a mass of jet black ringlets. She was tall and slim, with a beautiful long neck and enormous grey-green eyes. She was dressed in blue jeans and a gray silk top and her feet were bare. Amanda saw Michael looking at Solange with a stunned look on his face which he quickly hid when he saw that Amanda was watching him. Thibodeaux was not stunned, however, he ran to Solange and hugged her so hard they almost fell down.

  “Thibodeaux, you’ve grown up!” said Solange. “And so good looking. Mom, did you see how good looking my boy is?”

  “Now, Solange. Don’t you give your cousin a big head,” said Aunt Camille.

  Solange wrapped her arms around Thibodeaux’s middle and tried to pick him up to swing him around but could not even get him off the floor. “Guess I can’t play airplane with you anymore. Hey, you’re not a boy anymore, you’re a man.”

  Next Solange ran to Mr. Trudeau and gave him a big hug, “Uncle Benedicte, I can’t believe you are here, all the way down to New Orleans again.” Then Solange looked at Amanda, Peter, and Michael and asked, “So who is going to introduce me to these good looking people?”

  “This is Amanda and Peter and Michael. Amanda and Peter and I are the witnesses in that terror trial they are having in June and Michael is our bodyguard, right Michael?” said Thibodeaux.

  “Right, I’m their bodyguard,” said Michael who had gone back to looking cool.

  “Michael is Mr. Trudeau’s son. He works as an intern for his brother Terrence who is DJ True,” said Thibodeaux.

  “Michael, is it you? I don’t think I have seen you or Terrence since I was five years old and Mom and I had dinner at your place when I was visiting Auntie Tina in New York City. And now you are all grown up and Terrence is DJ True!” said Solange.

  “Well, …you’ve changed a bit too,” said Michael.

  Solange hugged Amanda, Peter, and Michael and said, “Welcome to New Orleans. We are going to have so much fun, now that you are here “

  Michael returned to looking stunned.

  Solange turned back to Thibodeaux and said, “You said witnesses? Mom told me that you and Auntie Tina saw something when the city blew up but she did not tell me anything more—just that I could not come to New York City and see you this Christmas. And that now you and some friends needed a place to hide,” said Solange. “What did you see?”

  “We can tell you more about that in a bit. But now we need to get these children settled,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “We’ve got that covered; we worked it out with Auntie Tina while you were traveling. Mom has a friend who has a shop on Magazine Street. There are two furnished apartments above her shop and she is going to rent them to us. Some family had been renting both and they just moved out,” said Solange.

  “Apartments, why are you renting apartments?” asked Mr. Trudeau.

  “We need two. One for Amanda and me and one for Michael,” said Solange.

  “Why do I need an apartment?’ asked Michael.

  “Where am I going to be?” Peter and Thibodeaux asked simultaneously.

  “What? What is this?” asked Mr. Trudeau. “I thought the kids were going to stay here with you.”

  “Now Benedicte, you just sit down and let me tell you what we worked out with Tina,” said Auntie Camille.

  “Please do, I can’t wait,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “The children cannot stay here. If those thugs figure out that Thibodeaux is from New Orleans, they might send someone to look for him and check out this house,” said Auntie Camille. “So I made arrangements for the apartments—one for Solange and Amanda and one for Michael. And Father Francis has made arrangements for Thibodeaux and this nice young man to board at the school,” said Auntie Camille.

  “School, what school? asked Peter. “I want to stay with Amanda, I don’t want to go to a boarding school.”

  “Father Francis also made arrangements for a nun to home school Amanda in the morning before she goes to the ballet school with Solange,” said Camille.

  “Ballet school? Whatever am I going to do at a ballet school?” asked Amanda. Amanda had taken dance lessons when she was five but it did not “take.” Since then it had been soccer and swimming for her.

  “Hey Peter and Thibodeaux —you will stay with Amanda and me on the weekends. We will have a great time,” said Solange.

  “Ballet school?” said Amanda like a
broken record.

  “Why do I need an apartment?” asked Michael, who was also beginning to sound like a broken record.

  “Stop this right now. Why are Thibodaux and Peter going to a boarding school and why are Solange, Amanda, and Michael moving into apartments? Michael was planning on going back to New York where he has a job and aren’t you going to be with them?” Mr. Trudeau asked Auntie Camille.

  “No. I have to go to Jamaica and look after Auntie Tina and those old people. I called the hospital and told them that my aunt was sick and I needed to take a few months off,” said Auntie Camille.

  Solange saw the perplexed look on Amanda’s face and said, “My Mom is a nurse.”

  “Why again are you going to Jamaica?” asked Mr. Trudeau.

  “I just told you. There are three old people who are going to be living in the mountains with Vanessa with no doctors around for miles and I need to be sure they take their blood pressure medicine and stuff,” said Auntie Camille.

  “What?” asked Mr. Trudeau.

  “You know that Auntie Tina has pre-diabetes and moderately high blood pressure and who knows what those other old people have. You don’t want them to get sick and be alone and not have someone to take care of them do you?” asked Auntie Camille. “

  “Well, no. But I did not think they were sick. Tina looked fine to me,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “I said get sick,” said Auntie Camille.

  Thibodeaux looked at the perplexed look on Amanda and Peter’s faces and said, “Everyone in this family wants to take care of Auntie Tina.”

  “But why? Auntie Tina looks like she could take care of anybody and anything, any time,” said Amanda.

  Thibodeaux leaned towards them and whispered, “Remember what I told you about Auntie Tina owning a lot of Harlem. Well, that counts for something in our family. Plus she’s Auntie Tina.”

  “So your aunt is going to leave us alone with a teenager while she goes to Jamaica?” asked Amanda.

  Auntie Camille heard Amanda and she turned to look at her. “Honey, Solange can take care of you and besides, you will have this big guy staying next door.”

  “I’m staying next door?” asked Michael who still sounded totally perplexed.

  “Yes. I told you. I worked out everything with Aunt Tina. She called Terrence and told him you would be gone for a couple of months, well until June,” said Auntie Camille.

  Michael turned to Mr. Trudeau, “A couple of months? Dad?”

  Mr. Trudeau shrugged, “We can’t leave them alone with a seventeen year old girl.”

  “Hey, Solange is great. She has been babysitting me since she was nine. When I lived in New Orleans, she was like my second Mom,” said Thibodeaux.

  “I’m staying in New Orleans?” asked Michael, again.

  “It’s beginning to look like that,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  Amanda looked around the room and thought that she had definitely been transported into a different universe. Many mothers in Greenwich Connecticut did not use babysitters, much less let a nine year old take care of a toddler the way Solange had taken care of Thibodeaux. But Amanda was in no position to complain. She was a guest in this home and she was smart enough to realize that she needed to get along with the people who were trying to help her.

  “Solange, did you finish packing?” asked Auntie Camille. “Solange and I have been working on the apartments, getting them stocked with food, dishes, shower curtains, towels, new mattresses for all the beds because we certainly don’t want bed bugs. The kids can stay at the apartment tonight and you (looking at Mr. Trudeau) can stay here at the house. But tomorrow morning I am leaving for Jamaica and this house is going to be shut down. My neighbor is going to take care of the garden and the chickens.”

  Peter moved close to Amanda and whispered, “Why are there always chickens?”

  Amanda just looked at Peter.

  “Well, I guess that will have to be all right since you are determined to go to Jamaica to be with Tina,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “Now Benedicte, you know that if you want things arranged right, you ask a woman,” said Camille.

  “Okay. Okay. Camille, did you get a Federal Express package?” asked Mr. Trudeau.

  “It arrived this morning,” said Auntie Camille handing him the package.

  Mr. Trudeau opened the package and took out some birth certificates, school ID’s, transcripts and shot records. “Look at your new ID’s and names. The three of you are going to be Solange’s cousins. Amanda and Peter are supposed to be from Chicago and they have come to stay with Solange because their parents are getting a divorce. Thibodeaux is another cousin who has moved back home from Baton Rouge where he was staying with relatives after the flood,” said Mr. Trudeau. “I did not change your first names because I thought it would be too easy for someone to call you by your new name and for you to forget and not answer. Amanda, your birth certificate and school ID say you are sixteen. You look older so I changed it to help you hide.”

  Mr. Trudeau handed birth certificates and school ID’s to Amanda, Peter, and Thibodeaux. “Amanda, your new name is Amanda Pascal. Peter, you are Peter Pascal, and Thibodeaux, you are Thibodeaux Pascal.”

  Mr. Thibodeaux then handed bank cards to Peter, Amanda, Thibodeaux, and Solange. “I put $200 on the three kids bank cards and $1000 on Solange’s card since she will have to buy groceries and clothes. Here is the number you are to call when you need more money. But remember, it has to be reasonable—food, school uniforms, not lots of DVD’s. I’ll make arrangements with Auntie Camille to pay your rent until June.”

  Mr. Trudeau turned to Michael, “Just let me know what you need. I will put it in your account.”

  “Why are you being so nice to us?” asked Peter.

  “Well, it’s not just me being nice to you. Your Mom and Auntie Tina sent your money. But I want to help too. It makes me red hot mad to think that some thugs tried to blow up the city where I live and now they are threatening some little kids who just happened to see them do it,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  “We’re not little kids anymore. I’m eleven and Amanda and Thibodeaux turned thirteen.” Peter looked around and realized that no one was listening to him.

  “Besides, someone needs to do something. Obviously, the FBI cannot hide you. Those animals followed you all the way to your school in New Jersey. So if the FBI cannot protect you, then it’s going to be me,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  Amanda turned to Solange, “What’s your last name?”

  “Montplasir. I’m Solange Montplasir,” said Solange.

  “Is that your real last name?” asked Amanda.

  “Yes, both Mom and I use Montplasir,” said Solange.

  “Use Montplasir?” Amanda started to ask. “Oh, never mind,” said Amanda deciding to just let that question drop. Amanda looked at Solange for a few seconds and said, “I’m sorry and I know how bad this sounds, but Peter and I don’t look like we could be your cousins,” said Amanda.

  “Hey, Sister, this is New Orleans, all our families are mixed. We’re French Creoles and we look all kinds of ways. Look at Thibodeaux, he’s half Cajun and he’s as light as you. But honey, you don’t have to look like anything. You’re supposed to be from Chicago. Folks here will think that’s plenty peculiar and won’t have any expectations.”

  Amanda just stared at Solange.

  “I’m working on her sense of humor,” said Thibodeaux.

  “Hey, you don’t act like you think it is odd and no one else will,” said Solange. “Besides, by the time I’m through styling you, you will look a lot more like me. We have to do something about those clothes,” said Solange.

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?” asked Amanda. When Mr. Trudeau had taken them shopping, Amanda had bought clothes that looked like the preppy clothes she had worn when she was living in Connecticut—lots of Gap, Tommy Hilfiger, Hollister, and Ralph Lauren.

  “It’s New Orleans, people dress differently here,” said Solange.

  “I don�
�t want to go to boarding school,” said Peter.

  “Me either. Why can’t we just go to the public school?” asked Thibodeaux.

  “Please, that will never happen. They may be fixing those schools, but they’re not there yet,” said Auntie Camille.

  Mr. Trudeau turned to speak to Auntie Camille, “Did you arrange for internet access in the apartments? These kids need to Google Chicago and Baton Rouge and pick up a few talking points about where they are from.”

  “What? We are supposed to do what?” asked Amanda.

  “Don’t worry. I will help you with your cover stories, since it seems like I am staying,” said Michael who did not sound happy at all.

  “I’ll call Terrence when I get back and explain. Who knows what Tina told him,” said Mr. Trudeau.

  Amanda felt totally lost. She had read Alice and Wonderland and arriving in New Orleans felt just like falling into that rabbit hole.

  “I want these kids to get to their new place before dark. Benedicte, may we load up your car with the last of their household stuff? Solange, you take the three kids in your car. It’s five o’clock and I know you want to get settled before dinner time,” said Aunt Camille.

  Amanda thought, “Oh great, we are going to be on our own before dinner.”

  “Well, I guess so,” said Mr. Trudeau walking back through the dining room to the kitchen. Next to the kitchen door were about eight boxes filled with towels, pots and pans, and assorted items.

  “We already took about ten boxes over to the apartments and the mattresses were delivered yesterday. This is just the last of it,” said Auntie Camille.

  Mr. Trudeau, with the help of Michael, Solange, Amanda, Peter, and Thibodeaux, loaded the boxes into the Escalade.

  Solange ran back upstairs and grabbed two huge duffle bags and walked to the door. “Come on kids, let’s go.”

  Solange quickly hugged her Mom, Auntie Camille, “Bye Mom, don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine.”