Gasps. A chuckle or two.
She pointed at the cloud commenter. “And my nose? It’s in the clouds because I’m five-nine in heels.”
Silence.
Marcus leaned back.
“I’m not the easiest person to get along with,” she said. “I’m not from here. I don’t act like you. And yes, let’s be honest, I dress better.”
Scattered laughter.
“I came to Gi Gi’s Crossing to figure out who I am without someone telling me. I made a bad first impression on a few of you. I own that. All I’m asking is asecond chance.” She paused, then winked. “And maybe a chance to offer some fashion advice while I’m at it.”
The room blinked at her.
Then came the questions.
“I heard you were a blonde?”
“What kind of moisturizer do you use?”
“Are your shoes really red underneath?”
“Will you pay George to be your driver?”
Marcus was impressed. Five minutes ago, they wanted to toss her out. Now they were ready to name her town fashion czar.
Frankie cleared her throat. “When I put on an ensemble, I don’t just wear it, I style it. That includes accessories. Wigs. Jewelry. Shoes with enough personality to carry a conversation.”
The room leaned in like they were watching a royal wedding on a fuzzy TV. Invested, slightly confused, and unwilling to miss a beat.
George looked faint with admiration.
“So you treat wigs like earrings?” someone asked.
“Absolutely. Wigs, lipstick, jewelry, men…each look has a mood. A personality. A vibe. Today’s required me to wear Sugar Plum.” She patted her wig. “Sugar Plum is confident and outspoken.”
More laughter.
“As for the other questions,” she went on, “yes, my shoes are Louboutins. Yes, the soles are red. And yes, they’re…financially assertive.”
A sharp inhale. One whistle.
“But I don’t think of them as shoes,” she added. “They’re an investment in foot real estate.”
Fireworks. Someone muttered it. Someone else scribbled it down.
“Foot real estate,” Lydia repeated thoughtfully.
“Don’t feel bad if it’s new,” Frankie said. “My vocabulary is fashion forward. It’s a commonly spoken language in my circles.”
“Like a knitting circle?”
Frankie sighed. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said, “but maybe it’s better if I tell you before the rumor mill turns me into a tax-evading model with a yacht and a nose job.”
“Did she just admit to a nose job?”
“That’s what I heard.”
