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Scents of the Past

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Apparently among the things the stepchildren found during their clean-out were a lot of bottles of perfume. I suppose her work in the fashion industry parlayed into a lot of "gifts" and so there were a couple of bushel baskets of perfume, of all brands and all vintage. I don't recall that Annie ever wore perfume. But there it was, a small mountain of bottled scent. The stepdaughters thought it would be fun to fill a huge silver bowl with some of these and put them out at the reception for anyone to help themselves, a souvenir of Annie. At one point during the reception, I went over to this ersatz perfume buffet and, along with many others, tried to find something of interest. We were like brides at a Filene's sale. Chanel, Yves St Laurent, Vuitton, Armani, all the big names were in the bowl. I don't wear perfume, in fact, most such scents repel me. But it suddenly struck me that it would be sweet to have a bottle of Annie's expensive perfume on my dresser as a little memorial to her. We were all very merry as we sorted through this grab bag, pointing out brands of note or shapes of perfume bottles that were unique or particularly appealing. Virtually all of them were unopened and untested. Some were so old they smelled like pine tar, some like the bosom of an old auntie. One of Annie's friends, a young woman named Susan, was standing next to me, loading up. She had at least six or seven boxes gripped in her arms. I was struggling to open one particularly stubborn bottle and all of a sudden the cap came off and my finger hit the plunger. We were all generously anointed, especially me. This took us all into fits of laughter but at the same time, Susan dropped most of her booty and one of the little bottles shattered at our feet. Someone hustled forth with paper towels from the kitchen. Mostly, we laughed and I felt Annie laughing with us. I think the church hall will be so scented for a long time to come, in spite of many efforts to clean the huge puddle of Arpege.

I returned home, saturated. My husband could make me laugh whenever we would pass someone doused in perfume or cologne. "What happened, did they break the bottle?" he used to whisper under his breath. Now I was the very result. I came home and showered to no avail. Maybe I will always smell of Annie's perfume, perfume she never wore but that she liked to have, that she liked to keep. I did manage to bring home a sweet little bottle in the shape of the Taj Mahal, all golden and shining, and it is now on my dresser, well sealed and hopefully never to be opened -- something I will like to have, that I will want to keep.