Red Hats (8 page)

“Delilah is Queen Mother because she started this chapter of the Red Hats.”

“You mean there’s more?”

“Oh, yes, we are a global sisterhood. If you travel anywhere in the world, you can find a chapter of Red Hats that will welcome you with big smiles and open arms,” Queen Mother said.

“Really? Is it part of the mandate to sell books?” Alma inquired.

Magdalena picked up on where Alma was going with her line of questioning. “Honey, we don’t work for no one.
We formed a book club where we read one book a month and then meet for tea to discuss whatever it was we read.”

“We had some really heated debates recently regarding a book titled
The Fire Next Time
by James Baldwin,” Dee said proudly.

Alma knew this book well. It was one of her favorites. Baldwin had predicted an intervention by God in the near future for the mistreatment of black folks in America. What Alma wanted to know was what Dee knew about black folks and their pain.

“I bet I know what side of the debate you were on,” Alma said.

“I’ll bet you you’re wrong. Hell, Sister Dee is just as black as one of us.” Joy laughed.

“Yeah, until the cops come. Then I bet she gets real white,” Alma shot back.

Sister Dee laughed off the insult. “I think it’s healthy to keep our minds active while searching for creative solutions to the world’s problems. Most of us have children and grandchildren who have no clue what was suffered for them to have the opportunities they now take for granted. But mostly, this is just
Sex and the City
for old biddies,” Dee joked.

Alma enjoyed her
day in the park with the Red Hats and ended up purchasing several books, although she promised
herself she would not be conned. As she approached her building, she noticed there were police cars in front of it.

“I live in this building. What’s going on here?” she asked the young black officer.

“There’s been a mugging, ma’am,” he said.

“Who?”

“It was the building manager, ma’am.”

“Mrs. Johnson?”

“Yes. Two men broke in, beat her, tied her up, and robbed her. I suggest you lock your door and make sure you know who it is before you open up for any visitors,” he said.

“Did you catch them?”

“Not yet, ma’am. Please be careful. If you notice anything suspicious, please give me a call. My name is Officer Davis. My number is on this card,” he said, handing Alma his card.

She wished he would stop calling her ma’am. It made her feel ancient.

“She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?” Alma asked.

“We certainly hope so, ma’am.”

Alma shook her head in disbelief as she made her way through the crowd and up the stairs. She could only think about how unsafe she felt in this building with all the steps to climb if someone was after her. Alma told herself she might make it up the first flight on adrenaline, but she knew she was too out of shape to get up four long flights with
someone chasing her. Alma put her books in the apartment and went to check on poor Mrs. Johnson.

Why would someone do such a bad thing to such a good woman? Mrs. Johnson was the sweetest person Alma knew. Never had a cross word to say about anyone and cared about everyone. If she saw a homeless person begging, she would pay them to sweep the front of the building. If she witnessed any of the neighborhood kids getting into trouble, she would be the first to give them an earful about being a better person.

Alma made Mrs. Johnson a pot of her famous chicken noodle soup and a cup of chamomile tea with lemon and honey.

“Thank you so much, Alma.”

“It is my pleasure, Mrs. Johnson. You get some rest now, and if you need anything, don’t be shy about giving me a call,” she said before leaving.

Alma locked the door and slid the chain in the slot. All of a sudden, she missed Harold even more. Regardless of how they might have outwardly treated each other, Alma was never afraid with him around, because she knew he would fight to the death for her. A good night’s sleep was out of the question now. Alma was armed with a cast-iron frying pan that she placed on the night table by her medicine. By her side was a hammer, under her pillow her trusty butcher knife. It was not going to be easy to tie her up and rob her. She practiced grabbing the strategically placed weapons.

*   *   *

Morning couldn’t come
fast enough. Alma was dressed and ready to get out as soon as she saw sunlight. She walked to the grocery store to get a cup of coffee and a buttered roll. She enjoyed them on a bench outside the park. She fought the voice in her head that said,
Leave now, and forget those catty red-hatted women. It’s only going to end up hurting again.
Women were generally not to be trusted in Alma’s world.

But the only alternative was to go back home, where she was a prisoner of her own fears. After reading the Red Hats’ weekly schedule, Alma decided she would conveniently be at the Marie Callender’s before the ladies arrived for lunch. If they asked her to join them, she would. When she arrived, Alma quickly realized that these were women with nothing to do but eat, and they were already there. For a moment, Alma thought to run away, but Sister Dee spotted her as she strolled past the restaurant a second time. They waved her inside and made space for her to sit next to Dee.

“You look so beautiful, Alma. Don’t she look good?” Magdalena asked the group.

“Yes, she does,” Dee said.

All of the women except Joy complimented Alma on her outfit and her hair, which she soaked up. She needed reassurance, especially having been up all night.

“Why, thank you, ladies.”

Dee was eating a big slice of hot apple pie à la mode. “Would you like some of this pie, baby? We have apple, pumpkin, sweet potato, or pecan.”

“No, thank you. I’ll just have some tea. I thought you were diabetic. Are you supposed to be eating pie?” Alma asked.

“If you ask the doctor, I’m not supposed to do nothing fun anymore. I’ve got to have my pie. I’ll just drink a little green tea later to balance out my sugar,” Dee confided.

“That works?”

“Only in her mind,” Joy joked.

“Oh, hush up and let me do me,” Dee snapped back.

“They already threatened to cut your foot off. I’m just looking out for you. You’re the one that’s going to be hopping around, not me,” Joy said as she bit into a piping-hot piece of pecan pie.

“Anyway, Alma, how are you doing today?” Dee queried.

“I don’t know. Good, I guess.”

“You guess? Either you is or you ain’t,” Magdalena said.

Alma was too tired to put Magdalena in her place. She thought about telling her those little teeth in her mouth looked like Tic Tacs or that she was going to call her Two Scoops because of all the raisins on her face, but Alma held her tongue.

“Someone got mugged in my building last night. I didn’t sleep a wink,” she confessed.

“This neighborhood isn’t what it used to be. I remember
when Malcolm X used to walk the streets preaching black unity and how he even inspired the junkies to gather around,” Joy said. “They would be nodding out at his speeches and trying to pick people’s pockets at the same time.”

“The only thing you can do nowadays is carry you some of this pepper spray. This stuff will send the demons running for cover,” Magdalena said.

“Where do I get me some?” Alma asked.

Magdalena reached into her tan leather handbag and handed Alma a fresh can.

“You can keep that on your keychain, and don’t be afraid to use it. It won’t kill anyone, but it will make them wish they was dead.”

“How much do I owe you?” Alma asked, reaching for her purse.

“That’s a gift. My son is a police officer, and this is what they use to control criminals. I have a box of that stuff at my house.”

Touched, Alma thanked her.

“It’s a pleasure. No one should be scared to live in their own home,” Magdalena said. Alma was glad she hadn’t mentioned the raisins to Two Scoops.

Alma felt self-conscious being the
only woman standing in the crowded ballroom without a red hat on. The room looked like a bed of spring geraniums. In addition, she knew the smell of her perfume couldn’t cover up the thick menthol odor of the Bengay she’d had to rub on her back to loosen up the muscles from her fall. She wondered how long it would take for the giant purple-black bruise to fade. It had been three weeks now, and it still hurt like hell. The Epsom salt baths didn’t help a bit. It was the price of getting old, as was her annoyance at the loud music the DJ was playing.

This is young people music. These women are too damn
old to be dancing to rap songs.
Alma was ready to go, but as she turned to leave, Sisters Dee, Magdalena, and Joy approached carrying drinks.

“What’s up, girl?” Joy yelled. “You look more nervous than a whore in church.”

“This isn’t my kind of music,” Alma said.

Drunk and with two drinks, Joy offered one to Alma.

“Drink this, and you will be on that dance floor screaming, ‘Drop it like it’s hot! Drop it like it’s hot!’”

“What’s in it?” Alma asked cautiously.

“It’s easier to tell you what’s not in it,” she joked.

Alma sipped the drink.

“Don’t sip it! Drank it! Take it to the head,” Joy said, raising her glass.

“I’m a lady. I like to sip and savor whatever I drink,” Alma said.

“To each his own,” Joy said, then bravely gulped the firewater with the girls.

Alma took a big sip, not wanting to be a party pooper. “Wow, you weren’t lying! That’s strong!”

“The good news is that from this point on, the rest of them will taste like nothing but good,” Magdalena said.

They all laughed in agreement. It didn’t take long for the drink to hit Alma. She instantly felt warm all over and found herself nodding her head to the rap music.
This is going to be fun.

“Someone stinks,” Joy said angrily. “This is why I hate coming to these functions. Somebody always got to show
up smelling like Bengay. If your ass is that old, keep it home. Right?”

The Red Hats all agreed. Alma wanted to disappear. She was pleased when a rather handsome and dapper man interrupted their conversation.

“Hello, ladies.”

“Hi, James,” Joy said nervously.

“Who is this?” he asked, focusing on Alma.

“My name is Alma.”

“Hello, pretty Miss Alma. My name is James Debron, and it is so nice to meet you.”

Alma shook his hand. James gently kissed it. Alma snatched her hand away.

“I don’t bite, unless you ask me to,” James said slyly. “May I have this dance?”

“I don’t like this music. Maybe later,” Alma said.

“You promise?”

“I said later.”

James smiled, glanced at his watch, then glided back into the crowd. Alma didn’t know what had happened, but she felt dizzy. She blamed the alcohol.

“I need to sit down,” she told Dee.

James had been
outside smoking a Hoya Double Corona Cuban cigar when he spied Alma in the midst of all the Red Hats. He noticed she was the only woman there not wearing the red and purple.

Sixty-eight years old and happily single made James a regular at the Red Hat parties. Born into a tribe of five sisters created a need for women to validate him. He loved to flirt but hardly ever pursued the romances, because he realized that if he gave in to one, then he couldn’t flirt freely with all the rest of them. He was also very discreet about his rendezvous, learning from his sisters that women hated men who kiss and tell.

Another reason he curbed his sexual appetite with these women was the money he generated in his family law practice from the Red Hats. They trusted him, and any indiscretion would compromise that. James didn’t mix business with pleasure, which allowed him to see past Alma’s façade.

The sparkle in her eye called his soul. He decided then and there that he would make it his business to bring her heart pleasure.

Sister Dee and
Alma sat at a table watching the other girls dance in front of them.

“My biggest problem right now isn’t my diabetes, it’s knowing that my daughter lives three blocks away from me and refuses to visit. She’ll walk right by me at the supermarket and not even speak. That hurts more than any disease you could ever have,” Dee said drunkenly. “This is a picture of her. That’s my Kelly.”

Alma looked at the photo of an attractive young mulatto
woman dressed in a high school cap and gown. The picture answered all of Alma’s questions about Delilah’s easiness around black folks. Alma felt her guard drop as she looked Dee in her pain-filled eyes.

“She’s a pretty girl,” Alma offered.

As she looked up, Alma made eye contact with James, who was smiling at her from across the room. She pretended not to see him, but he knew otherwise. He let her off the hook and turned away first.

“I mean, I don’t even know what I did to her to make her treat me so bad. I told her about my condition, and all she did was shrug her shoulders and say, ‘What do you want me to do?’”

“I would have slapped the taste out of her mouth,” Alma said. “My kids aren’t perfect, but they know they’d better fake it around me. Time-outs don’t work with black children. You got to beat their ass when they don’t give you any other option.”

The music stopped.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special request going out to a young lady named Alma from James. James said to let you know he paid me a lot of money to play this song, so you’d better dance with him,” the DJ joked.

The crowd parted as James smoothly waltzed over to Alma’s table. She stood up to run, but he was light on his feet and caught her before she could find the exit sign with her eyes.

“It’s
later,
” he said cockily.

James took her hand and reassured her with his eyes that he would be gentle. Alma grabbed her drink from the table and guzzled it. James smiled as they walked onto the dance floor. She was nervous, but he pulled her close and moved rhythmically, side to side, his hand on her waist guiding her with the control of a great lover. Alma had to fight the images in her head. It had been a long time since she was this intimate with a man. She felt as if James was able to read her mind by the way he looked into her eyes. She decided to close them to prevent him from reading her heart.