Sonata

by Kenya Wright

  Various sized bottles stacked all the shelves. Crystal. Glass. Metal and so on. Some were filled. Others were empty, and for sale to customers who wanted a personalized scent. And the bottles were different colors—pink, blue, silver, and gold.

  Large vases of flowers had been scattered throughout the place. And so many fragrances filled the air. Some fruity. Others different varieties of musk and pine. The further we walked the scents became flowery—rose and lavender.

  A short woman stepped into the room. Her skin was a dark brown. Her hair a long silky gray. She looked to be of East Indian descent, but I wasn’t sure. “Hello. You must be Mr. Laurent.”

  “I am.”

  “My name is Penelope.” Her gaze brightened. “I’m not used to anyone renting out the store. Thank you for your…exuberant investment.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Penelope gestured towards a small table covered in fine china. Tiny sandwiches and sweet treats topped the dishes. “I’m not used to this level of client. . .so, I…put some things together, but if you want more I can go out and—”

  “No. No.” I shook my head. “The spread is lovely.”

  She nervously skittered around the table, moving the napkins an inch to the right and then an inch to the left. “My friend told me I should have food for the amount of money you’re spending. And music. But what do I know? My music would probably bore you kids.”

  I chuckled. “Penelope, you’ve provided everything we need. This is lovely.”

  She beamed. “Thank you.”

  “And we’re easy customers,” Eden added. “We go with the flow.”

  “And we’re more excited about the perfume than the ambiance.” I looked at the shelves. “You’ve come highly recommended. My Aunt Delphine told me—”

  “Oh, Delphine! You’re her nephew. Oh. This will be fun.” Penelope giggled. “I’ll get the champagne later.” She rubbed her hands together. “Let’s get to the perfume. What’s the occasion?”

  I smiled. “New lovers.”

  Eden blushed.

  “Hmmm.” The woman’s face brightened more. “New love. How beautiful? Smell is directly related to love.”

  I winked. “I was just saying that.”

  Eden snorted.

  Penelope led us to the back.

  A long glass table sat in the center. Tons of glass flasks stood in silver holders. Labels covered each one, identifying the scent within.

  Penelope gestured for us to sit in the cushioned seats behind the glass table. “Our sense of smell is the only one of our senses that’s biologically linked to our brain.”

  I pulled out Eden’s seat and she sat down. “Interesting.”

  Penelope slid several trays over to us. “It’s why when some people smell a particular pie, they think of their grandmother and how she would make them pies on rainy Sunday mornings. If they inhale deeper, they may even be transported to that old rainy, Sunday, embracing their grandmother and tasting her pie on their tongue.”

  “How long have you worked with perfume?” Eden asked.

  “As a kid, I read Patrick Susskind’s book, The Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. Have you heard of it?”

  Eden nodded. “Yes. It’s about a guy that starts killing for a perfect scent.”

  “Yes. In the book, he explored the dangerous power of scents.” Penelope brought out a few flasks and placed them near us. “It was all about how different fragrances can create love or hatred, disgust or irresistible attraction.”

  “So, in some ways our sense of smell is subconscious?” I asked.

  “You’re a deep thinker, Mr. Laurent. Yes. It is subconscious too.” She glanced at me and then Eden. “Sometimes we fall in love with someone more because of their scent than anything else.”

  Is that how I became obsessed with you, Eden? Your scent?

  As Penelope gathered items and began to explain the process we would undergo, I wondered if I had caught Eden’s scent in that apartment and if that was the reason I had become obsessed all along. Perhaps, her skin’s fragrance was completely perfect for me. My mind. My body. Even my soul.

  Take that, Celina. It’s not just because I’m a crazy creep. Eden smells so good.

  Penelope and Eden went back and forth, talking more about fragrances. I enjoyed watching Eden. She smiled, and it lightened my heart.

  This moment had given her some peace from the pain of death. When one mourned, rest and escape ranked higher than food. When one mourned, it felt like they were dying too.

  I’ve got to make sure she’s comfortable this week. Leo’s death is going to be hard for her to get through, especially after losing her mother to cancer.

  “In French, the slang expression ‘I can’t smell him/her’ is used to express when one can’t stand someone.” Penelope brought over a bowl of herbs, sniffed them, and set the bowl by Eden. “So, think about that. Even for the French, language mingles with the social role of scent.”

  Eden studied the bowl. “I didn’t know that was a phrase. This is fascinating.”

  “This job brings some crazy things,” Penelope continued. “Last month, I held a Smell Dating event. A woman’s book club had put it together. It was the first time I had heard of it.”

  “What’s Smell Dating?”

  “It’s just like Speed Dating. A single woman sits for a certain amount of time with a single man. The time ends, and the woman talks to another man, and the earlier man talks to another woman. But with this Smell Dating event, everyone was blindfolded. The men and women made their decisions off the touch of their hands and the smell of the other. And of course, the sound of their voices.”

  “Do you think anyone found love?”

  “I’m sure they did. The nose never lies and neither does the ears. Yet, a fragrance has more power of persuasion than words or appearance.” She reached her hands out to Eden. “Okay. This is the part where I smell you.”

  I arched my eyebrows. Clearly, my daydreaming had made me miss Penelope’s explanation of the process.

  She sniffed Eden’s wrists, walked over to her, and smelled behind both ears. “Yes, Eden. I can think of a few fragrances that will raise your lovely natural fragrance. You have a natural aphrodisiac power happening.”

  Penelope hurried off to a shelf, returned, and placed several vials in front of Eden. “These should be perfect for you.”

  “Thank you.” Eden took her time, smelling each one. “Wow. I love these.”

  “And now you.” The woman walked over to me and did the same thing that she’d done with Eden. “Yes. You both have similarities, but clear differences too. You smell compatible.”

  I quirked my eyebrows. “Are you that good?”

  “I’ve been told.” Penelope placed a tray in front of me. “I picked my late husband due to his scent. We were married for thirty happy years. I lost him a year ago.”

  Eden paused from the vials and looked at her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “If it’s okay to say this. . .” Penelope held her hand to her heart. “Eden, you smell like you’re sad. In love, but also sad. Did you lose someone recently?”

  Eden’s eyes widened. “You can smell that?”

  “Sometimes. No one ever believes me, when I say it, but this is my truth.”

  Eden’s voice cracked. “Yes. I did lose two people.”

  “Then, no to the champagne.” Penelope shook her head. “This very special and private event calls for whiskey.”

  “I concur.” I toyed with the vials on my tray. It was hard to not be a kid with Eden. We always did fun things. Stuff that I would never think to do with Rafael and Louis. We weren’t the type of men to go make perfumes together.

  A man needed a woman to explore life with.

  “A fine perfume can have hundreds of ingredients.” Penelope brought small wooden boxes over. Some had flowers. Herbs. One had cinnamon sticks. “What you should remember is that simple is always best. While you can create perfumes with combinations of essent
ial oils, sometimes the best scent is a delicate water-based perfume with a floral scent. It’s deliciously direct. Hits the nostrils and shoots right to the brain.”

  “I love this.” Eden looked like she was close to taking notes.

  “For the heightened effect, you want highly fragrant flowers.”

  “Okay. I’m thinking rose for sure.” Eden scanned the wooden boxes of blooms and petals. “What are the others?”

  “Let’s see.” Penelope took them all in. “Honeysuckle and lavender are good ones to add. It’ll make a nice bouquet for the nose.”

  Hmmm. Rose.

  Penelope had several essential oils in front of me. One had been labeled rose. I picked it up, placed a drop on my wrist, and inhaled.

  It definitely reminded me of roses. A scent that always made me think of the first time I bought Eden a bouquet of them. I inhaled my wrists again and thought of how I fucked Eden in the hot tub. Rose petals had clung to her wet skin as she moaned.

  I grunted. “Yes. This will definitely do.”

  Penelope left, disappearing into the back of the store. Eden looked my way and smiled, even though sadness lay in her eyes. She was doing her best to not be depressed.

  I took her hand in mine. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better, but you always take care of me.”

  “I try.”

  “You do.”

  Penelope returned with three small glasses and a large bottle of whiskey. “Here we go. Let’s make a toast to the dead. They love it when we do.”

  And we did. We drank like sailors in a bar that had just come home from sea. The whole time we sprayed or dabbed fragrances all over us.

  It was a blast.

  Penelope told us more about her late husband. She’d met him in a brothel of all places. She sold perfume to many of the women. He’d done maintenance. They bumped into each other at the service entrance.

  “And with one sniff of Hugo, I knew I’d found the love of my life.” She finished her glass and poured some more. “That was how good Hugo smelled.”

  “How did you start dating?”

  “He smelled me. And just asked me out right there on the spot. We went out that night. Dinner and dancing. The full moon was out. The wind crisp and cool. He gave me his jacket and then a kiss…” She paused as if lost in that moment and then cleared her throat. “Either way, I’m better off because of my meeting Hugo. My life changed.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  “Love is amazing.” Penelope poured Eden more whiskey and gestured my way to see if I also wanted more.

  I shook my head. The both of them were pretty drunk, as they giggled and spilled a few vials. I’d more stepped into the nurturer department. Happy that Eden was losing herself in fun.

  “Do you know what the most expensive bottle of perfume is?” Penelope asked.

  I leaned in with interest. “I don’t. What is it?”

  “The perfume is called Obsession.”

  “Hmmm.” I grinned. “Now that’s intriguing. Tell me more.”

  “The bottle is encrusted with rubies, diamonds, and gold. It costs $20 million.”

  Eden sipped her whiskey. “That better be a fabulous scent. Where would you get it?”

  “The place where you can get most ridiculously expensive things.” She expanded her hands and giggled. “Paris. Where all ridiculously expensive things are sold.”

  “I still can’t wrap my head around the $20 million.” Eden scrunched her face in confusion.

  “Well, the bottle itself covers $1.5 million. The customization of the scent is what brings the value up to $20 million. First of all, each bottle takes more than thirty-five people to make.”

  Eden laughed. “It better take more than that, if I’m buying it. And it should come with land, a house, and staff. Maybe even a yacht.”

  “And Jesus or Buddha should be driving the yacht. Somebody important.” Penelope cheered her glass with Eden. “But those that buy the bottle are also buying the experience of making it. They’re invited to fly around the world with the company as they process and select each ingredient.”

  “Do they fly in a jet?” I asked.

  “Of course.” Penelope batted her lashes and shifted to a dramatic voice. “It must be the jet, darling. You’re not getting the buyer on coach.”

  “The name Obsession is perfect for it,” I said. “I’m sure the process probably becomes an obsession in itself.”

  Penelope nodded. “They do say the process is a journey.”

  Eden snorted. “It better be for $20 million.”

  They both laughed.

  The shop’s front door opened.

  Penelope turned around. “Oh, we’re closed.”

  “Don’t worry.” I rose from my seat and spotted Giorgio. “Only my men will be coming in here. They’re guarding the front.”

  Giorgio took in the shop as he walked forward.

  What is wrong now?

  Eden’s gaze filled with terror.

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry. Usually Giorgio brings good news.”

  It was a half-truth, but she didn’t need to fear for the moment. I wanted her to enjoy her fragrances, the whiskey, and even the fellow company of a woman who’d lost someone dear to her too.

  Giorgio waited several feet away.

  “I’ll be right back.” I walked over to him. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m a little jealous,” Giorgio said. “You’ve never taken me to make perfume.”

  I leaned his way. “Get on with it.”

  “Kazimir is here.”

  I fisted my hands. “Define here.”

  “A block away.”

  Too damn close to Eden.

  Giorgio added, “Could be a coincidence.”

  “Why could it be?” It was hard to keep the edge out of my tone.

  “Kazimir is in a bath house a block away. You know how the Russians are. They love to be sweaty with other men. Grunt and—”

  “He’s there now?”

  “Yes. We have men on him. I’ll keep you updated on—”

  “We’re going over there.”

  Giorgio frowned. “Wait, what?”

  I walked back to the women. “Eden and Penelope, I’ll be right back. I have to check on something.”

  Eden’s voice came out soft. “Okay. Be careful.”

  I spoke back in French. “I always will, my love.”

  I headed away.

  “So…” Giorgio hurried ahead of me. “Where are we going exactly?”

  “To the bath house.”

  Giorgio held the door open. “Because?”

  “I want to talk to Kazimir.” I walked through the door. “Which way is it?”

  “Right.” Giorgio tried to keep up with me as I stormed off, ready to break the Lion’s neck. Some of my men remained at the shop. Others came along with Giorgio’s people.

  You come to my city, and don’t give me the common respect of letting me know. Then you coincidentally hang around where I’m at with Eden. I’m done playing games.

  Cats were like that. Furry serial killers that liked to play with their food, instead of just eating it. That was similar to Kazimir. The Lion loved to play games before his kill. Maybe he enjoyed extending the moment. Either way, I would not play any games with him.

  For over a decade, the name Kazimir and Lion has been whispered in the back streets of Paris and Tehran. Los Angeles and London. Cairo and Beirut. Governments labeled him as a terrorist due to his commitment to murdering high officials, his destruction of masses of land, and the bombing to many buildings across the world.

  Take your ass back to Moscow, Lion.

  We all made it to the bath house in less than twenty minutes.

  Russians loved to do business in these places. Whenever I dealt with them on good terms, that was where we would met. My first meeting in a bath house had been overwhelming. Russians took it too seriously. There was a whole culture and ritual to it. It was no spa experience.r />
  Still, a high price tag came with most bathhouses.

  And the one Kazimir had chosen, lived up to the hype.

  Giorgio and I walked in. Most of my guards remained outside. I hadn’t brought my gun, so they knew I wouldn’t go too far.

  Or would I?

  The exterior of the bathhouse looked like an old French inn. Nothing like the bath houses I’d seen in my past. Ancient stones outlined a huge black doorway.

  “Hello.” A small man handed us a menu. He had a thick Russian accent. “The entrance fee is ten thousand dollars. We have dry saunas, wet saunas, dunking pools, an in-house restaurant, and if you’re looking for further relaxation, we can book you a massage at an extra charge. There is a VIP menu for some of the masseuses, if you’re interested in alternative forms of release.”

  The door opened behind Giorgio and me. Rafael stepped inside with Louis.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “We weren’t far away.” Rafael scowled at the bathhouse host. “Plus, Giorgio texted me.”

  I looked at Giorgio. “When the hell did you do that?”

  “When we were walking. You didn’t notice because you were stomping off the whole time.”

  Rafael chuckled. “I love when Jean-Pierre stomps with aggression.”

  The bathhouse’s attendant cleared his throat. “As I was saying gentlemen, the—”

  Rafael glared. “He doesn’t know who we are?”

  “No. He didn’t get the memo.” I walked past him and the desk.

  “Hey!” the man yelled.

  I stopped and looked at him.

  “Excuse me, sirs but…” The man paused, when Louis stepped in front of him.

  “We will just be touring your facilities for now.” Louis opened his jacket and revealed his gun. “My cousins are not sure if this is the place they’re interested in or not. That shouldn’t cost anything right?”

  The man gazed at the gun. “Of course not. The tour is. . .free.”

  “Wow.” Louis grinned. “You would do that for us?”

  The man swallowed.

  Louis gestured to his men filling the place. “We won’t need a guide, but you should wait here with my friends.”

  “Okay.” The man walked over to where Louis pointed. “I can just wait here. It should be no trouble.”