Free Red Hats by Damon Wayans Page A

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.

chapter
eight
    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 damnold 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 showup 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