Red Hats (13 page)

“It was nice,” was all she had said to Dee as she walked past her wheelchair parked in front of the door as Alma entered the apartment.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Dee had confessed.

I will
, Alma had thought as she made them both some hot chamomile tea. But she hadn’t. She’d called Angel to relay every minute detail to her. Darryl had been shocked when he picked up the phone at two
A.M.

“Hello, it’s Alma. Could you please put Angel on the phone, sweetie?”

“Your crazy mother is on the phone,” she heard him say to Angel.

Alma had decided on day two of no James “Missing in Action” Debron that she would start looking for her own place to live. As she walked around Harlem, where she felt the rent would be most reasonable, images of James kept popping into her head. How could he say all those sweet things to her and not mean them? What kind of cruel game did he like to play?

When I do see him, I’m going to walk right past him as if he’s invisible,
Alma had convinced herself as she walked toward her building on the opposite side of her street. His side.

She was thrilled on the third day of grieving when Sister Dee invited her to go to Atlantic City for a weekend of fun and games with the Red Hats.

Any kind of game would be better than the one she was now being forced to play by Mr. Debron. That was her new name for him, Mr. Debron. And Mr. Debron would have no more power over her from this point on. It was supposed to be a three-day trip. Dee suggested she pack something to party in, too. They were going to stay at the Trump Plaza Hotel, where the Red Hats got an amazing group deal.

The girls gathered at Dee’s place. The van, complete with a hydraulic lift for Dee’s wheelchair, was waiting at the curb. Alma was helping out in the kitchen, making healthy snacks for their three-plus-hour trip, when out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of James emerging from his cave. He wore a long beige wool coat with earmuffs under a brown fedora and what looked like mittens on his hands. It was a bit overdone for the cool winter day. A lighter jacket would have sufficed, Alma thought. James looked up at the window for a moment, as if contemplating coming over to their building, then suddenly turned and walked eastward toward the supermarket. Alma was sure that he didn’t see her since she was standing by the stove.

“I’ll be back shortly, ladies,” Alma announced as she grabbed her coat and maxi-length sweater and headed for the door.

“Hurry up, Alma, everyone is here and ready to go,” Dee said.

Alma didn’t hear anything except the voice in her head that wanted some kind of closure with James. She was determined to run into him accidentally and give him a piece of her mind. She wished she were younger so she could jump down the steps a little faster and catch up to him before he disappeared to God knows where. Her instincts said he was supermarket bound, so she went the back way so as not to have to run behind him. She was correct. James was standing in line holding two cans of chicken noodle soup, an orange juice, and some crackers. He looked happy to see her enter the market.

“Hey, Alma,” he called in a hoarse whisper, waving to her from across the store.

Alma waved back, mostly out of embarrassment. She picked up her basket and proceeded to shop for the nothing she’d come to buy. When she got to the produce aisle, he was behind her. Alma smelled his cologne before he even opened his mouth. It wasn’t strong, it was just seared into her memory bank, and the slight whiff made her turn around to see if she was right.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call or come by,” he said.

“You don’t owe me any apologies. We’re grown folks,” Alma lied.

“Yes, I do,” he insisted. “I’ve been very sick for the past few days. This is my first day out of the house.”

Alma searched his glassy eyes and knew instantly from
the raspiness of his voice that he was telling the truth. She knew that sick look from being up late at night nursing her children back to health.

“Well, if you eat that nasty canned soup, it’s just going to make you feel sicker. Go put that stuff away. I’ll make you some of my famous chicken noodle soup. Go on before I change my mind.”

James flashed a grateful smile and hurried off as fast as he could to return the items he was about to purchase. Alma began picking out fresh vegetables and herbs. When James returned, she had garlic, onions, celery, carrots, potatoes, ginger, cilantro, and lemons in her basket. They walked together to buy the chicken pieces and pasta noodles, then headed out. Alma was on a mission to fix this man.

“Excuse the mess,” James said as they entered his place.

Alma was impressed with his taste. It wasn’t the mess he said it was at all. The thing that stood out, besides the mahogany wood floors and expensive contemporary furniture, were several pictures of a beautiful woman in various frames and a giant oil painting of the same woman hanging over the fireplace.

“That’s Nadia.”

“She’s beautiful,” Alma said out loud, as if confessing to herself.

“Yes, she was,” James said proudly. “The kitchen is this way.”

Alma followed him with her feet, but her eyes didn’t
leave the painting until she rounded the corner of the entry to a chef’s paradise. It was a large kitchen with a chopping table in the center as an island. Copper pots hung overhead, and the Viking stove and other appliances were like something out of a magazine.

“I like to cook, and I need space to move around. Hope you like it.”

“I love it,” Alma said.

She removed her sweater and coat. James hung them in the entryway closet. After washing her hands, Alma began soaking the chopping vegetables.

“Do you mind if I watch?”

“If you want,” she replied. She thought,
You’d better watch.
“Let me make you a drink first. Where’s your brandy?”

“In the bar by the pool table.”

She put the teapot on and went out into the family room to get the bottle of Fundador sitting on a shelf next to a crystal bottle of Louis XIV. As she headed back into the kitchen, there was that painting again. Nadia had eyes that haunted her. They seemed to smile as if she hadn’t a care in the world. How could anyone be that happy? The teapot got her attention as it started a slow, low whistle. Alma made James a hot toddy with some Lipton tea, a tablespoon of honey, half of a lemon, and the best ingredient of all, two ounces of Fundador.

“That’s good. I may need another one of these.”

“I’ll make you another after you eat your soup.”

“Yes, Miss Alma.”

The soup simmered, and all of Alma’s ill feelings toward the invalid James disappeared. They smiled at each other like high school lovers every time Alma looked up from her culinary duties.

“Oh, my God, I’m supposed to be going away with the girls!” she suddenly remembered. “I have to run and tell them I can’t make it.”

“I can take it from here. You go be with your friends.”

“Nonsense. I’ll be right back.”

She left without her sweater so she’d have an excuse to come back.

“I’m so sorry, Dee, but I’m not going to be able to ride with you. I’ll catch a bus later and meet y’all at the Trump.”

“What’s so important that you can’t ride with us?” Joy snapped.

“First of all, I was talking to Dee. And second, it is none of your damn business who and what I have to do,” Alma warned.

Joy rolled her eyes and allowed a
humph
sound to escape from her mouth to save face, but she also saw that Alma was not to be taken lightly.

“I’ll be in the van,” Joy announced before walking out of the apartment.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect your house, Dee, but that woman does not sit well with me.”

“I understand. You go take care of whatever you have to handle, and we will see you there. I’ll research the bus to
take online and write down the schedule for you. It will be right on the table by the door,” Dee said.

Joy was standing by the van smoking a cigarette as Alma walked across the street toward James’s building. Alma rang the bell, then gave her a territorial look as the door buzzed open and she entered.

James sat at
his table like a child as Alma served him the soup.

“My sinuses are blocked, but I can still see how good this looks.”

“That soup is going to clear all that up. I put a lot of fresh ginger and cayenne pepper in there. I hope you have some tissue handy.”

“I got a brand-new handkerchief right here,” he said proudly, holding it up for her approval.

“Good. Hold on one second while I put the final touch on it.”

Alma cut a lemon in half, then squeezed it into the soup. A bit of it squirted into James’s eye.

“Owch. You don’t like my eyes, huh, Alma?” he said jokingly.

“I love your eyes. I’m sorry.” Alma dabbed his eye, then kissed it gently. “Better?”

“I think some got into the other eye, too.” Alma kissed the other eye. James held her by the waist, and she pulled his head into her breasts. “Now I’m better.”

Alma sat across from him as he devoured the soup.

“You’re right about clearing out my sinuses. Man, this soup is amazing!” he said while wiping his nose with the handkerchief.

Alma smiled, then got up to make the second hot toddy she had promised. She put in a little extra Fundador to help break up the congestion she heard in his cough. They sat in the living room as he drank it from the steaming mug. Alma noticed the sweat it created on the bridge of his nose.

“I feel bad about taking your jacket that night. It’s all my fault.”

“You just made it worth it. Thank you, Alma,” James said as he stretched out on the couch. Within five minutes, he was knocked out.

Alma found a blanket and a pillow in his bedroom. She propped him up and covered him to his neck, kissed his forehead, and started to tiptoe out the door. She heard him mumbling a protest but ignored his drunken request for her to stay the night with him.

On the bus to Atlantic
City, Alma felt really good about herself. She had forgotten how simple it was to please a man. A little kindness was all it took. She used to be like that with Harold. What did he do to make her resent doing what came so naturally for her? Old feelings of anger started to rise, and then the thought of James’s shiny eyes smiling up at her from the couch instantly calmed the rage that tried to rear its ugly head. Alma took a deep breath and promised herself she would try to replace unhappy Harold memories with James’s sweet nothings.

Two hours into the trip on the ancient Greyhound bus, Alma felt nauseated from the toxic smell oozing from the bathroom’s blue sanitizer water. She decided to change
the fragrance in the rolling coffin. Using her hatbox as a dinner tray, Alma enjoyed a snack of fried chicken and potato salad. The other passengers looked on in envy as she devoured the perfectly seasoned feast before their hungry eyes. After she was done eating and licking the residue from her fingers, she dusted the crumbs off the hatbox, read a few chapters out of her Bible, then took a nap.

As the bus pulled up to the Trump, Alma saw a frail older woman in a red hat being helped out of a car by a handsome young man who was the spitting image of his mother holding on to his arm. Several of the other Red Hats were there to greet the woman. They all wore their big hats like proud peacocks. Alma didn’t understand how these women could wear those loud hats out in public all the time. She felt too embarrassed to put hers on without a purpose, especially now that she had worn it on her date with James. The hat had taken on a more romantic quality for her. When Alma stepped off the bus, Magdalena started screaming like a teenager at a high school football game.

“Alma! Hey, girl!” Magdalena yelled. It was obvious that she had a couple of those free casino drinks in her system.

“Hi, Magdalena,” Alma said, lowering her voice in hopes of letting Magdalena know that it was OK to speak at human decibels.

“Did you just get in?”

“You see me getting off this bus?”

“I’m sorry. Those Long Islands are strong. Do you know that you can walk around outside with liquor here?”

“I don’t think you should walk around with any more tonight.”

“Girl, you are hilarious,” Magdalena answered. “Come on, let’s get you checked in. I think you’re staying next door to Joy.”

“Oh, great,” Alma said under her breath.

Magdalena grabbed her by the arm and started to pull her toward the front door.

“Wait. I want you to meet Stacy.” Magdalena stopped suddenly, then pulled Alma toward the older woman with her son. “Stacy, this is Alma. She is one of us.”

“Hello, honey. You sure are pretty,” the woman said.

“Thank you, Stacy.”

Alma noticed that the woman’s head shook like the plastic dog on the dashboard of a low rider’s car. Stacy’s hands trembled to match the constant movement of her head.

“This is my son Kenny. He is such a big helper to me. I couldn’t do anything without my Kenny.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Kenny said with a slight bow as he shook Alma’s hand.

Stacy looked up from the ground and saw Alma smiling at her. “Hello, honey. You sure are pretty,” she said again.

“She got Alzheimer’s,” Magdalena whispered. “She’ll do that all night long. Let’s get out of here before she sees you again. I don’t know why Sister Dee always invites this kooky old broad to our girls’ nights out.”

*   *   *

Alma was annoyed
as soon as she stepped into her less-than-average accommodations. Next door, Joy had her television blasting some new-school R&B music and was singing along with the nasty woman singing the song about going down to meet and play with the one eyed monster. She decided to change her room in order to avoid confrontation, but as she picked up the phone, the other line rang.

“We’re going to meet for dinner at Roberto’s in thirty minutes. It’s in the center of the hotel after the atrium,” Dee said.

“I want to change my room.”

“Can it wait? We had a hard time getting the reservation for fifteen.”

“OK, Dee,” Alma replied.

She listened to the squealing coming from next door as she hung up the phone, regretting the decision.