I started this a little while back...would love some help!
The wet Florida heat stuck close to the ground. and the thick smell of humidity and petrol sluggishly haunted the deserted town of Sarsaparilla. Margot had been born in the heart of Fort Lauderdale just two weeks before the hottest Christmas on Florida record.
Moving to Sarsaparilla when she was just four years old, Margot never had that urban drive. With dark tan skin and nearly cotton blonde hair, she was both a spectacle and an enigma in that monochromatic town 40 minutes from Panama City. She was sweet and she was tough and she knew what it meant to be different in a place where diversity meant watching football instead of baseball.
Margot’s father, Pierre, had been an engineer in Haiti before moving to Fort Lauderdale. Although his degree was valid and authentic in every sense of the word, he often struggled to find work after receiving his admission ticket to the American Dream. After five years of rejections and sudden cancellations, an overzealous municipal clerk from northern Florida named Larry Duke with an affinity for European culture misidentified a Monsieur Pierre Clavette as a “red-blooded Frenchie” and emailed a three year bridge construction contract that very day. It took Pierre six months to correct his error, though Mr. Duke had his suspicions after first laying eyes on him.