Ancient fans turned, churning the aroma of oil soap and Aqua Net Hairspray. Puritan bare – simple pine pews, worn and smooth from use, and one single cross hung as elegantly and understated as a weathered fresco. Jeweled lights sparked over the white plaster walls – doves gripping olive leaves and transposed names of ghosts from the past. A silver sea of bouffants and candy-colored pill box hats danced on the shoot of red carpeting that cut the room in half. Like cats they shrilled – laughing and kissing each other's cheeks. Until she walked in. Eyes narrowed, and voices turned hushed rustling breaths.
Deafening fuchsia plunged low to reveal enormous mounds of flesh – yellow and spotted like the skin of an old banana. Perched atop her head curled a wad of throbbing orange resembling a frightened tropical bird. No hat, no gloves.