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Frances Lloyd was a tough cookie, and they knew better than to question or argue with her.
In that regard, the woman deserved some credit.
It took her a lot of guts to live the way she did when not many people, especially women, had that kind of courage.
A nostalgic smile curls my lips.
She knew a thing or two about faces made for sin. She had one herself and used it to find lovers and husbands.
She cherry-picked her men, never cheated on them, and never stuck around much when things didn’t work out.
She was the kind of woman who never settled or compromised.
As much as she could, that’s what she taught me as well.
She got married three times. To her, a man had to be a man, or else.
'There aren’t that many good men, sweetie,' she used to say. ‘You either learn how to pick them, or you don’t, and you end up with an insecure, wishy-washy, wilted flower. Don’t wait for them to slobber over you, ‘cause real men never do. And never fall for their pocketbooks, either. ‘Cause it’s not worth it in the end. Make your own damn money. There’s no such a thing as being taken care of. Their money comes with interest you have to pay your entire life.’
Yeah... She taught me well.
‘And one more thing, my dear...’ she said to me one week shy of my seventeen birthday as we were lounging in her backyard, sipping lemonade. ‘Don’t cut him slack when it comes to the bedroom either. He has one tool to work with, and it’s not so damn hard to learn how to use it. Make sure you don’t compromise on that one either.’
What can I say?
She was quite the pioneer. Not many people would agree with her, not even in today’s world, let alone decades ago.
‘We are very much alike, Senna,’ Frances used to say, but I was too young to understand what she meant by that.
But now I know.
Carol, her third husband, and my grandpa, the man I owe my looks to, was a man of her taste. The kind you’d go to the end of the world for. And she did, without having the slightest regret.
Hot-blooded, wild, and stubborn–– impossible to tame––he loved Frances and was loyal to her.
Their life together was great as long as it lasted.
Frances and Carol Lloyd were different than other grandparents, and I was lucky to be their favorite granddaughter.
I'd run to them whenever I could get away from school and my parents. Summer or winter, it didn’t matter. I loved the time spent with them all the same.
Tilting my head back, I narrow my eyes and shift my focus back to the mirror.
The makeup looks flawless, a plus considering I rarely go out and rarely have the patience to paint my entire face.
The black eyeliner adds depth to my eyes, and the nude lipstick and gloss make my pout stand out.
A smirk crawls up my face.
I stray so far from the flock that even my looks disagree with the long line of blue-eyed, blonde-haired women in my family.
I look nothing like my sisters, Evelyne and Isabel, my mom, or anyone else on her side of the family.
I shift the small voyage bag from one hand to the other and glance at the expensive, designer watch.
It’s ten past nine.
I’m late. Good.
