it, Alma.” Sister Dee greeted her now. “What happened to your leg?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I lost my balance trying to open a window. I’ll be all right.”
“Alma, none of us are getting any younger. I fell down last month. I was just standing up, and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground. The doctor said it was my blood sugar. He said my diabetes is getting worse, so now he’s put me on these medications that make me so tired I needsugar just to stay awake. Come on, let me show you around, introduce you to some more of the girls.”
Alma was impressed by the different ethnicities of the Red Hats. She’d been sure this was a group of women from some black church who hung out together. She was wrong. Sister Dee explained that the founder of the club, Sue Ellen Cooper, was a white woman who wanted to bring a bunch of women over the age of fifty together to have fun and prove that life begins after your maternal duties end.
The book fair was a way for the women to raise money to travel and help out the less fortunate Red Hats.
“We’re going to Atlantic City next month, and we need some money for chips to gamble, right, girls?” Dee said.
“Yes, Queen Mother!” Joy shouted back.
Alma did not like hearing this black woman addressing a white woman as her queen and mother! It turned her stomach, reminding her of the white woman she used to work for. Mrs. Albertson was an old, angry, racist witch who had lorded her power over Alma as if she were her slave. She’d insisted on being called Madame Albertson. If Alma was a minute late, she would deduct an hour’s pay, even though she knew Alma had a young child at home and was pregnant with another. Mrs. Albertson hadn’t cared if Alma was tired, sick, or even dead—she was determined to get a full day’s work out of her. That included thoroughly cleaning the refrigerator every day, hand-washing the toilet, and waxing the floor on her hands and knees weekly. If the house was clean, she would toss all her clothing onthe floor and have Alma redo the closet. Sometimes she would request it to be color-coordinated, and then after two weeks or so, she would complain that she couldn’t find a particular dress and accuse Alma of stealing it. She would deduct that from her pay, too, threatening to fire her if she didn’t reimburse her. Alma had needed the job too much to quit, but working for that woman was hell. It got to a point where Alma would break down and cry, begging that woman to forgive her for taking the dress she knew she didn’t have, just to keep the job. Mrs. Albertson had seemed to get some sort of sick enjoyment out of breaking Alma down. She would stare at her with her cold blue eyes and a little smirk on her face as she “considered” whether to accept the tearful apology or not. Sometimes the Grinch would wait until Alma finished mopping the floor, then walk over it wet and have her do it again because she saw footprints. What made this old crow so evil Alma could never figure out, but fear of being out of a job reminded Alma to hold her tongue. She would repeat those words in her head throughout the day—
Hold your tongue
—and a voice in her head would shout back,
Holding our tongues kept us in slavery for two hundred years!
One of the happiest days of her life was the one when she quit working for old Madame Albertson. Alma had waited until her boss lady went out for her daily walk, then washed all of her dark clothes in bleach, mopped the floor in molasses, and for good measure, stopped up the toilet with a brown paper bag, took a dump, and left it without flushing. Madame Albertsonhad come home to find Alma sitting on her couch and watching television.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Mrs. Albertson had demanded.
Alma had walked right up to the elderly demon. “I’m liberating myself from your slavery, you old bitch. I wanted to thank you for nothing and let you know I left you a little gift in the bathroom. I
“Oh, it’s nothing. I lost my balance trying to open a window. I’ll be all right.”
“Alma, none of us are getting any younger. I fell down last month. I was just standing up, and the next thing I know, I’m on the ground. The doctor said it was my blood sugar. He said my diabetes is getting worse, so now he’s put me on these medications that make me so tired I needsugar just to stay awake. Come on, let me show you around, introduce you to some more of the girls.”
Alma was impressed by the different ethnicities of the Red Hats. She’d been sure this was a group of women from some black church who hung out together. She was wrong. Sister Dee explained that the founder of the club, Sue Ellen Cooper, was a white woman who wanted to bring a bunch of women over the age of fifty together to have fun and prove that life begins after your maternal duties end.
The book fair was a way for the women to raise money to travel and help out the less fortunate Red Hats.
“We’re going to Atlantic City next month, and we need some money for chips to gamble, right, girls?” Dee said.
“Yes, Queen Mother!” Joy shouted back.
Alma did not like hearing this black woman addressing a white woman as her queen and mother! It turned her stomach, reminding her of the white woman she used to work for. Mrs. Albertson was an old, angry, racist witch who had lorded her power over Alma as if she were her slave. She’d insisted on being called Madame Albertson. If Alma was a minute late, she would deduct an hour’s pay, even though she knew Alma had a young child at home and was pregnant with another. Mrs. Albertson hadn’t cared if Alma was tired, sick, or even dead—she was determined to get a full day’s work out of her. That included thoroughly cleaning the refrigerator every day, hand-washing the toilet, and waxing the floor on her hands and knees weekly. If the house was clean, she would toss all her clothing onthe floor and have Alma redo the closet. Sometimes she would request it to be color-coordinated, and then after two weeks or so, she would complain that she couldn’t find a particular dress and accuse Alma of stealing it. She would deduct that from her pay, too, threatening to fire her if she didn’t reimburse her. Alma had needed the job too much to quit, but working for that woman was hell. It got to a point where Alma would break down and cry, begging that woman to forgive her for taking the dress she knew she didn’t have, just to keep the job. Mrs. Albertson had seemed to get some sort of sick enjoyment out of breaking Alma down. She would stare at her with her cold blue eyes and a little smirk on her face as she “considered” whether to accept the tearful apology or not. Sometimes the Grinch would wait until Alma finished mopping the floor, then walk over it wet and have her do it again because she saw footprints. What made this old crow so evil Alma could never figure out, but fear of being out of a job reminded Alma to hold her tongue. She would repeat those words in her head throughout the day—
Hold your tongue
—and a voice in her head would shout back,
Holding our tongues kept us in slavery for two hundred years!
One of the happiest days of her life was the one when she quit working for old Madame Albertson. Alma had waited until her boss lady went out for her daily walk, then washed all of her dark clothes in bleach, mopped the floor in molasses, and for good measure, stopped up the toilet with a brown paper bag, took a dump, and left it without flushing. Madame Albertsonhad come home to find Alma sitting on her couch and watching television.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Mrs. Albertson had demanded.
Alma had walked right up to the elderly demon. “I’m liberating myself from your slavery, you old bitch. I wanted to thank you for nothing and let you know I left you a little gift in the bathroom. I
Similar Books
