Page 11 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
“Shut up,” she answered, unruffled. She turned the volume up. “Does any of your pretentious college music have a beat this good?”
I laughed and Bran dropped his head back against the seat, accepting defeat. When the song ended he sat up again. “Speaking of pretentious...”
Livvie glanced at him in the mirror. “Yeah?”
“How are you going to handle Angelique, Cam? You think you can talk Miss Annie into letting you stay in the kitchen?” he asked.
“That or hope I spontaneously become invisible in the next ten minutes.”
“You and your invisibility,” he said, shaking his head. “At least tell me what your lagniappe is.”
I smiled and held up my wrist to show him my bracelet, a hair elastic doctored with letter beads reading “Faker.” As much as I loved the ability to move through my day with barely a ripple, a tiny part of me rebelled. It showed up as a small touch in my clothing every day. Whether it was orange Converse or my cameo locket with a picture of Delphine altered to look like a devil goat, I said what I wanted to say without uttering a word. Bran named it my lagniappe. It’s a Louisiana word meaning “a little something extra.” Only he and Livvie knew I did it, and they competed to spot it first.
Livvie snorted at my bracelet and cranked the radio even louder. By the time we checked in at the guard gate in front of Audubon Place, I had compressed the knot of anxiety in my chest into a tiny, dense pellet, and drawn enough deep breaths to shift it out of my way. It wouldn’t disappear completely, but I could focus on the important stuff. Like convincing Miss Annie to keep me in the kitchen chopping fresh veggies. Pounds and pounds of carrots and celery and broccoli. Hooray. At least I could eat as many as I wanted while I helped. I was so sick of yogurt.
Livvie slid into one of the open parking spaces near the guard house. “How’s the weather?” she demanded.
“Nostrils are free and clear,” I said. “Teeth?”
“No stickies,” Livvie confirmed. “Let’s gloss.”
She pulled some gloss from her glove box and I dug my Cherry 7-Up Lipsmacker out of my pocket. Two good swipes and then I had no more excuses to hide in the car.
Like most of the gracious mansions in this enclave, the LeBlanc place sat on a big lot, maybe even a full acre. New Orleans had more than its fair share of poverty, but a lot of wealthy families lived in the Garden District or here, behind the Audubon Place fence. They almost all sent their kids to LaSalle. It wasn’t my first time inside the gates, but it was my first time at Angelique’s house.
I studied the front of the house as we passed it on the way to the service entrance at the back. A verandah wrapped around the front and sides in classic plantation style. Columns, white paint, big ole shutters, the whole works.
We reached the catering van, but its back doors stood open with no one inside. Bran offered a resigned smile and pointed to the LeBlanc’s kitchen door. “Looks like we’re starting in there. If you see Angelique coming, drop down and tie your shoes or something.”
I stared down at my black canvas ballet flats. “I don’t have laces.”
“Tie them anyway.”
* * *
Three hours later, Miss Annie bustled into the kitchen. “Cam!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered from my crouch at an ice chest where I rummaged for more raw spinach.
“I need more boots on the ground. It’s getting mighty wild out there. You’re on service now. Grab a clean apron and go.”
A flare of panic propelled me to my feet. “I can’t!” I said to Miss Annie’s retreating back.
She stopped and pinned me with her no-nonsense stare. “What do you mean, youcan’t? Did you break a vital bone while I was out back?”
“No, ma’am.” I swallowed, trying to figure out what to say. Miss Annie was a fair lady, but she wasn’t much for what she called “high school soap operas.” However, I guessed she would especially not care to have her catering gig ruined by one. I went with the truth. “Angelique LeBlanc and I still haven’t, um, settled our differences since the Guidry’s party. Or she hasn’t, anyway. It’s probably bad if I go out there and bump into her.”
Miss Annie’s gaze sharpened. “How bad? Like someone is going to start flinging my cocktail shrimp bad?”
“No, but I’ll probably take some heat.” For good measure, I met her eyes with a look that begged,Please don’t make me do this.
When she sighed, I relaxed a fraction. Her well-hidden tender side would save me.
“Bless your heart,” Miss Annie said, humor lurking in her tone. “I need everyone serving, but I’ll keep you in the house. Near about the whole party is outside, but there are a few of them smart enough to come in out of that heat. Load up a tray with crab puffs and sweep through the first floor every few minutes. You can come back in here and chop in between.”
Relief washed over me. “Thank you, Miss Annie.”
“High school soap operas,” Miss Annie grumbled as she bustled back out to check on the buffet tables.
