Chanel No. 5

Mama was born to be a fifties housewife. Dyed blond beehive, red claws, silk heels. Her Cadillac convertible was white with blue interior. Her diamond large. Her watch square. Classic.

Countless daytime projects kept her busy. Paint the two-story house, clean the pool with muriatic acid, groom the poodle’s pompoms, sew floor-to-ceiling yards and yards of Antique Satin, cook a three-course meal, dress to kill.

After dinner, Daddy sits in Daddy’s big, red leather chair. He peels apples for dessert over the propped-up evening paper while listening to Walter Cronkite’s best thoughts.

They connect at the pool. As dark sets in, Jazz tinkles across the blue water. Looks are spiked by Cutty Sark and Crème de Mint. Daddy follows languid smoke from her long cigarette holder and Chanel No. 5 leads him away.

Frank Lane Reese 1910 – 1966
Alice Ida Heydt Reese 1915 – 1995

​Story inspirations and ideas are my own. Thus, positive reactions are welcome. Criticism not.