Leslie: A Novel - Softcover

Tyree, Omar

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0743228707 ISBN 13: 9780743228701

Publisher: Simon & Schuster, 2003

Synopsis

The New York Times bestselling novel about a beautiful young woman with a dangerous secret
At the historically black Dillard University in the lush city of New Orleans, Leslie Beaudet struggles with a dark secret of power in a world that is pulling her in many different directions. Her friends and family see her in many ways -- from a father's deserving princess to a mother's source of pride and strength, from a caring listener to a motivated student -- but does anyone know the true Leslie?
When a series of murders befall her New Orleans community and increasingly points in Leslie's direction, her friends and relatives realize they've never really known her at all. Slowly, this complicated young woman emerges. She is terrified of failure, struggling with family secrets, praying for elusive security, and craving the power to change her fate. Her power was hidden from her until now...and it might be too late to stop her.
Omar Tyree delivers another exciting tale filled with irresistible and authentic characters you won't soon forget.

About this title

About the Author:

New York Times bestselling author Omar Tyree is the winner of the 2001 NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Literary Work—Fiction, and the 2006 Phillis Wheatley Literary Award for Body of Work in Urban Fiction. He has published more than twenty books on African-American people and culture, including five New York Times bestselling novels. He is a popular national speaker, and a strong advocate of urban literacy. Born and raised in Philadelphia, he lives in Charlotte, North Carolina. Learn more at OmarTyree.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

The Chocolate Crew

New Orleans, Louisiana. The view of a handheld video camera widened. The date on the small view screen read THURS JAN 11-01. The color was vivid and clear with the sun still up at 3:36 P.M. The picture enlarged to capture the full front view of the light-blue-painted two-story house. The paint job was bright and striking, with white trim that outlined the windows, the roof, and the one-car garage. There were three new wooden steps that were still unpainted, which led to a light-blue-and-white front porch. Four plastic white chairs sat out on the porch for lounging. And a white screen door shielded the heavy, light blue front door, which led into the house.

"This is our home, sweet home, or at least for the meantime."

The camera zoomed in on the pleasant brown face of a college girl. Her hair was done in tight shoulder-length braids. She spoke right into the lens of the camera with poise and confidence as the focus locked in and followed her.

"Okay, that's the outside. Now we'll walk inside to meet my girls. They're also my housemates."

The girl smiled wide for the camera with bright white teeth and smooth skin.

"We call ourselves 'the chocolate crew' because we're all chocolate brown. But it's not like we planned it that way, like we had color favoritism or anything. That's just how it happened.

"But anyway, let's walk inside..."

The lens zoomed in as the camera moved forward and followed her through the front door. The view widened again inside the living room. The room had a plain white paint job, with no artwork or family portraits on the walls. It was a rented student house with a marble fireplace and shiny hardwood floors that were covered by large Oriental rugs. Two girls sat on the sofa to the left, with a third girl sitting inside the dining room that was straight ahead.

"Okay, let me introduce myself first, since I'm giving the tour here," the host in braids spoke into the camera. She was excited and straightforward with her introduction.

"My name is Bridget Chancellor, and I'm from Ann Arbor, Michigan. I came here to Dillard University to enroll in the nursing program while experiencing the city of New Orleans."

"It's N'awlins, girl. Not New Or-leans. You don't know that by now? You've been here over a year already. Get that proper shit out ya' voice."

The camera angled left to the two girls who sat on the sofa. The first one, who was closest to the camera, was plump, with short pressed hair that was curled at the edges. She hid her face to laugh when the bright light of the camera focused on her.

The second girl, who had interrupted Bridget, wore a black bandanna around her head, with twisted hair that poked out in twenty different directions. She had all of the mouth in the world, and she hid it from no one.

Bridget grinned and said, "That's Yula Frederick and Ayanna Timber."

The camera zoomed in on Ayanna Timber, with the twisted hair and loud mouth. She responded accordingly, with her hands swaying, head bobbing, and mouth running to her own beat.

"Yeah, I'm the A-to-the-Y-A-double-N-A, and if you wants to play, then don't swing my way, 'cause I'll send you to a grave like a thug from the boulevard for trying to act hard. So don't pull my card unless you're ready to go, blow for blow, flow for flow, and now you know.

"So who you wanna step to with your weak-ass crew, it ain't the A-to-the-T from the chocolate girl crew, you'll get your ass spiced up like a Leslie stew."

Laughter filled the room, including a grin from the fourth housemate, who sat alone in the dining room, before Bridget took control of the camera again.

"Anyway, Ayanna's from Houston -- "

"The southwest si-i-ide!" Ayanna hollered.

" -- and I forgot what she's supposed to be studying because she changed her major three times already," Bridget continued.

Ayanna said, "It's sociology."

"Whatever," Bridget said. "You need to keep your mind on your work instead of your rapping."

"Shit, B, you need to keep your mind off your little Creole boyfriend who be over here every other night."

The camera angled left and right to keep up with their rapid conversation. When the view stopped on Bridget, she looked embarrassed. Ayanna was giving unscripted information.

Bridget said, "Well, at least I still get my work done. And he doesn't call himself a Creole."

She faced the camera to explain things further. "Um, Ayanna didn't mean B like in, you know, a B or anything like that. She just meant it, like, B for Bridget."

Laughter filled the room again.

Ayanna said, "Girl, stop trying to explain everything. You need to be a damn anthropologist or something with the way you always try to explain shit. Some things ain't meant to be explained."

"And some words are not meant to be used all the time," Bridget responded. "Well, anyway," she said, moving on, "Yula Frederick is from Mobile, Alabama, and she's a nursing major like I am. That's how we met in our first semester, freshman year."

"Why don't you shut up a minute and let Yula introduce herself?" Ayanna snapped.

Bridget sighed and didn't say another word. What use was it? Ayanna was unruly. She was a disruptive force, where Bridget was raised on civility.

The camera zoomed in and focused on Yula's wide frame while she sat on the sofa. She watched it apprehensively. Then she dropped her reservations. She said, "Well, you know, we're the chocolate girl crew or whatever, but it's not just because we're brown; it's also because we're tasty."

They laughed again. The camera zoomed out and focused on the fourth housemate, sitting alone at the dining room table. She was doing homework. She looked up from her book and shook her head, above the playfulness.

The camera angled back to Yula. She said, "I can't speak for everyone else, but I know I gets mines." Yula had no shame, and she liked to shock people, like at that moment.

Bridget stopped the tone of the conversation. "No one asked you that, Yula. You don't have to share that. I mean, keep some decency."

Ayanna said, "Girl, she can say she gets her man if she wants to. What's wrong with that? I know I get mine."

"Yeah, you hang out with enough of them," Bridget responded.

Ayanna frowned and said, "Bridget, don't try to act like you don't be gettin' yours. Don't even front for the camera like that. Be real about it."

Yula agreed with Ayanna. "I know. She's trying to be all Goody Two-shoes up in here."

Finally, the fourth housemate spoke up from the dining room table. "Y'all all in here tellin' y'all business. You don't even know what she's gonna do with this stuff."

"That's what I'm trying to say," Bridget added.

"It's a documentary on the life of college students, right?" Yula asked.

Bridget said, "Yeah, but still..."

"A documentary for who?" the fourth housemate questioned.

The camera zoomed in on her dark brown face of symmetry. Her eyes, nose, lips, and chin were all defined in smooth arcs and were lined up perfectly. Her long, straight black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and held in place with a red scrunchie.

Bridget said, "That's Leslie Beaudet. She's from New Orleans, and she tells us what time it is down here. Go ahead, Leslie, say something for the camera."

The camera didn't budge from her while she sat calmly at the table. It zoomed in closer to her. Leslie's face filled up the screen. The stillness of her eyes was just as perfect as everything else about her. They peered straight ahead with serious intent.

Leslie asked them, "What do you want me to say?"

"Say anything," Ayanna told her. "Tell us something extra about N'aw-lins. Talk about that voodoo shit down here. Speak in French, L. Do anything, girl. Anything!"

Everyone laughed but Leslie. There was no playfulness left in her. She was mature beyond her years, and the calm focus of her eyes on the camera told you everything...and nothing.

She turned from the camera and declined to speak, with a simple shake of her head and a hum, "Mmmpt mmm." And that was it.

"Come on, Leslie, just tell us how you like to cook, and about your aspirations in school and stuff," Bridget complained in the background.

The camera refused to move from Leslie. It loved her stillness, the shine of her long black hair, and the value of her sparse movements. Nothing was wasted with her. And not another word was spoken from her mouth.

Bridget apologized to her camera-holding friend when they walked outside together.

"I'm sorry about that, Kaiyah. I mean, Leslie knew what we were doing. She even agreed to be here for it."

The sunlight had faded by the time they had all told their individual stories. All except for Leslie, who continued to listen while doing her homework.

Kaiyah asked, "Is she usually tight on conversation like that?" She was a tall, medium-brown girl wearing a green-and-white sweatshirt from Tulane University.

Bridget nodded. "I'm afraid so. But sometimes she talks. I mean, we couldn't have become friends without it, right?" She forced herself to grin. "I mean, she'll come around. She just needs to be comfortable in front of the camera, that's all."

Kaiyah returned her nod. "Well, as long as she keeps it real with herself. You don't want her to act outside of herself. Documentaries are supposed to capture people just how they are in everyday situations. So she did good by just being herself."

Bridget asked, "Well, do you think they'll still decide to use us in the documentary?"

Kaiyah couldn't promise her anything. Even the question bothered her. She liked the chocolate crew. They would have added the needed flavor to the documentary of college students that she and a handful of Tulane classmates were working on. However, Kaiyah also understood the racial politics of America. Blacks were often not included in popular American culture, and she didn't want to set Bridget and her housemates up for a letdown.

Kaiyah took the safe road. She said, "Well, we'll have to wait and see. I mean, since you guys all live here in the same house, that would make it easier for us to stay in contact and film all of you."

"That's what I'm saying. We would be perfect for it, like MTV's The Real World, right?" Bridget joked.

Kaiyah smiled, but she still made no promises. "I'll see what happens and call you."

Bridget sighed. It was out of her hands. She would have to be patient and await the outcome. She refused to hide her disappointment from her friends when she reentered the house.

"Oh well, now we have to just wait and see," she told them in dejection. Bridget looked forward to her college life being documented. She wanted to stand out and be special.

Yula looked at Ayanna, and Ayanna looked over at Leslie. Leslie looked up from her work again but didn't comment. No one wanted to blame her, but they all thought about it. They all wanted to be special and to stand out. Who didn't? Maybe it would have been best if Leslie had not been home and they had left her out. However, Bridget remained optimistic. Leslie would come around. Besides, they couldn't come down on the New Orleans homegirl too hard if they still wanted to eat well. Leslie was the best cook in the house. She was the best cook that any of them had ever known, including their mothers and extended family members. Leslie could outright "throw down" with exotic meals. Cajun food. Creole food. Soul food. Haitian. You name it!

Ayanna broke the stale silence in the room and asked, "Well...what's for dinner tonight...Leslie?"

The room was filled with laughter again. Even Leslie chuckled at it from the table.

She said, "Don't worry about it, I'll hook it up like I always do."

"Yeah, and I don't even need the names," Ayanna joked. "I can't pronounce most of that shit anyway. Jambalaya. Etouffé. Whatever, just hook that shit up, L. I still love you."

Leslie had a joke herself. "Seven dollars a plate," she told them.

Ayanna stopped and looked at Bridget.

"You still giving her a discount on the rent for her cooking?"

Bridget looked embarrassed again. She looked at Leslie and shook her head in disgust.

Yula said, "Wait a minute, I can cook, too. What kind of discount do I get?"

Leslie said, "You can cook tonight then."

Ayanna frowned. "Oh no she can't. I'm too hungry tonight for that experimentation shit. I'll fuckin' go to Popeyes for all of that."

Yula said, "Don't even try it, Ayanna. My cooking is not that bad."

Leslie flashed an eye of reprimand at Bridget before she responded to Ayanna. "Popeyes cook some of the same stuff that I cook anyway. Maybe you should eat there every night."

Ayanna stopped the joking. She realized that Leslie was pissed about her big mouth.

She said, "Leslie, don't even get like that. I'm not sweatin' that rent thing. You deserve a break on the rent. I mean, you get most of the groceries."

"Well, why you bring it up then if you not sweatin' it?" Leslie asked her.

Ayanna felt trapped and guilty. She looked for a way out.

She said, "Well, Bridget told me about it. Maybe she got problems with it."

Bridget raised up her hands and closed her eyes. Ayanna's mouth was unbelievable!

Bridget said, "Ayanna, you are just too damned petty!"

"Whatever, as long as I eat tonight. I pay my damn rent. Or my mother pays it, 'cause I ain't got no money like that." She looked at Bridget and said, "But your father does. I don't know why you sweat any of us for real, Bridget. You know how hard college is on us."

Bridget snapped, "Ayanna, you knew how hard college was going to be on you financially before you ever met me. So don't even play that. That's just plain foul. And you know it."

Ayanna chuckled and said, "You can't blame a girl for trying."

Yula continued to feel left out of the argument.

"I can cook and buy groceries, too," she protested. "I need a damn break on the rent."

Leslie took a deep breath and let it all slide. She got back to her schoolwork.

Hot spices sprinkled into the simmering pot that Leslie stirred with a long wooden spoon that night. She stood in front of the stove inside the kitchen, wearing a full apron. She no longer needed to measure her ingredients. Her cooking had become a precise rhythm. Time and practice had made it perfect. As she cooked, she looked expectantly every few minutes or so at the white telephone that hung on the kitchen wall near the refrigerator.

Leslie could feel the phone before it would ring sometimes. Her ears could zone in on it before it made a sound. It would be another call from her family. They were always calling her. By age nineteen, in her sophomore year of college, she was used to it. Her family needed her. So she had learned to expect their calls while in the middle of anything.

As she watched the phone, anticipating its ring, she noticed the abused telephone cord that had been stretched out of shape, dangling almost to the floor, twisted and deranged, and twirling without reason. Yet they still managed to use it.

Leslie watched that phone cord bouncing up against the wall and wondered. What would her life be like if she had more control over it? Or perhaps...if she had control over others, so that she might unravel herself and break free from their grip. She wanted to fall to the ground and unshackle her fee...

About this edition

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster
• Publication date: 2003
• ISBN 10: 0743228707
• ISBN 13: 9780743228701
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 400