How I Became a Hat (pt. 2)

My initiation into the Hats was not particularly remarkable. If you've been to a work-related social, or perhaps an AA meeting in a really nice church basement you've had some experience with the vibe. When Henry explained that I was about to become part of a secret society, I have to admit I expected more. My Catholic upbringing has set high expectations when it comes to ritual. I expected at least some anointing oils or a baptimsal font, instead I got spiked punch and snickerdoodles. My first hint should have been pulling up to the Society Room, buried in the embrace of a strip mall, at two o'clock in the morning. Ungathered shopping carts slid around the parking lot of Wal-Mart like tumbleweeds, all the other stores were dark, their merchandise protected by alarm systems and surveillance cameras. The Danger Hat Society room was similarly dark on the outside, but Henry led me straight through its unlocked doors, through a plain reception area, and into the sumptuous leather and velvet confines of the main room. There were Hats all around, mostly the silver-haired sort. Ornella Campisi was the first welcome me. This strange woman with a mask of pin-up makeup drawn over her aging features grabbed me by the waist and held me in an asphyxiation embrace until Henry managed to distract her with a fresh glass of champagne. Through the three giant gulps she took from her flute, she welcomed me to the club.
I scanned the room looking at all the wrinkles and wheelchairs. Had I signed on for some sort of bizarre elder club? Would one of the members steal my youthful body and leave me trapped in their decrepit shell? Then I saw Martine holding court in the corner, a long tendril of blue smoke curling above her head. She wasn't so much beautiful as ferocious. Like a big cat, her eyes were sleepy and unassuming, but her bared teeth were shiny with hunger.
"Martine is from Montreal. She is a master thief and consummate mountain climber. She also paints very pretty pictures. A few of which hang in this room." I offered my hand but she seemed unimpressed with my blue and yellow video store polo and chocolate-stained khakis.
"So this is who replaces Robert, then, hmmm?" The group around her eyed me with suspicion, mentally ticking off my flaws.
"Doesn't look like much," A small boy with blue black skin whispered to his chubby, pock-faced neighbor.
"Neither are you," said Henry sternly picking up the boy by the shoulders and smacking him against the burgundy papered wall. It's strange to see an older person be violent. Like when this old woman slapped her grandkids in the store, suddenly Henry's sweet green eyes furrowed into something hard and menacing. It was then that I knew I belonged to him like I had never belonged to anyone. I was more than a replacement daughter, I was everything to him. I was his immortality.