Scent

by Kelly, Clint L.

  Torn between emotional restraint and abandon, Mags forgot why she had come to the bathroom, and didn’t care. It was several seconds before she recognized that the rapid breathing in the room was her own. Something else. Gretch no longer made a sound. Odd.

  Quickly she dashed Cassandra on her wrists and behind her ears, then twisted the doorknob and stepped into the hall.

  Ears flat, teeth bared, long limbs stiff as chair legs, the Great Dane was there, staring at her, through her, a rumble of menace building in its throat. Fear stabbed her. Mags knew that stare. It was the same look she’d seen in Gretchen’s eyes the moment she barged in on Beth. Was there something about Cassandra —

  On television Cassie said, “Thank you, members of the Guild, esteemed guests, friends, and foes — for without our foes, how would we know our friends?”

  Maggie rushed past the dog. Show no fear; call her bluff. Mags felt an invincibility she hadn’t experienced since high school, when friends dared her to drive from one end of the block to the other blindfolded.

  “There are thank-yous that must be delivered here at the outset,” Cassie continued. “One is to the Azure team — Skip, Forrest, Siggy, Mark, Safi, Royce, Joy, Lyle, everyone in the office, everyone in production, every one of our suppliers and retailers. You’re amazing, talented, special people. Yes, there will be a Christmas bonus this year!

  “The second thank-you goes to all of you out there in the wide world who have remained faithful customers and who have created the buzz around Cassandra.” She intently looked into the camera. “To you we say, ‘You will not be disappointed!’ ”

  Mags made it as far as the recliner before she heard the deranged snarl from behind, the heavy lope of paws on carpet, then nothing more in that suspended second of time from leap to contact.

  The thickly muscled weight of the dog propelled Mags forward with all the resistance of a rag doll. Her glasses flew from her head. Slammed face-first into the back of the recliner, she heard a lamp and a vase of dahlias smash against the coffee table while Cassie delivered her verbal honors.

  Dizzy, nauseated, she reached back to slap at Gretchen’s muzzle and teeth. Her palm came away red with a warm stickiness and the metallic smell of copper mingled with the scent destined for greatness. Black unconsciousness bore her down.

  She tried to rise again.

  But she couldn’t.

  Just before the snapping savagery stole her senses completely, she screamed her daughter’s name.

  Beth couldn’t concentrate on any chemistry other than that which existed between her and Andre. Plus she shouldn’t have treated Mags so hatefully. It wasn’t Mags’ fault that she and her mom had lately grown distant. Not really. Everybody wanted to succeed, and sometimes that meant sacrifice. Mags was caught in the middle.

  Plus — and this was a mighty big plus — Beth could not stop thinking about that gorgeous bottle of Cassandra. She still tingled with the memory of the scent.

  But why had Gretchy reacted that way? She was fine until the perfume leaked. It was a total Jekyll-and-Hyde thing — what was that biological term? Oh yeah. Metamorphosis, “a striking change in appearance or character.” It was freaky.

  She saw her mother on TV and stopped to listen. “My next two thank-yous go to the two most important people in my life. To my daughter, Beth, who could not be here because of a looming chemistry final. You are our sparkling diamond, and I want the Crystal Decanter to sit on your dresser, where it will remind you what your patience and long-suffering and good nature have achieved. We’re not just gaining market share, Button; you’re getting your parents back! Thank you, sweetheart, for never giving up on us!”

  Her mother was so beautiful, like Cinderella at the ball. This time, though, the royal coach would not turn back into a pumpkin. Will they really allow me to display the Crystal Decanter in my room?

  She made a face. Her mother had called her a sparkling diamond and Button in practically the same breath — on national TV. She couldn’t go back to school, ever. And if Andre said a word, she would hairspray him to the wall.

  Sparkling diamond had a nice sound, though. Things would be better now. They would. Lately she had seen her parents begin to mellow a little.

  Beth checked in on the sleeping Max and Martine. Babysitting money meant gas money, which meant more of Andre. Recently, though, it felt more like her chasing him than him pursuing her. Maybe it was time for a break. Fr. B had urged her to join a mercy mission to Haiti for spring vacation, and she was seriously considering it, especially after she heard that the ratio of guys to girls was two to one.

  She’d do it. She’d go back over to the house, apologize to Maggie, bribe her with chocolate for a decent dab of Cassandra. Her friend Elise at school had sneaked some from a test vial her mother had snagged at the mall; then she had turned all moody and distant like she knew something no one else did. It was weird. It also made Beth all the more curious to try it herself.

  On TV her mother continued. “To my Nicholas I say, ‘What an incredible man!’ His courage and strength rank with the explorers of the New World because he too risked life and limb, launched into the unknown, and claimed the prize for queen and country.” She squeezed his arm and lowered her voice. “You and Beth are God’s good gifts, and now that we have won our freedom” — she held the crystal trophy high and laughed — “we will put our house in order.”

  “Go, Mom!” Beth said.

  “Last but not least, I must thank a woman who has been a mother to me, especially since the death of my parents in the past year. No one knows more about the art of perfume, or where more of the skeletons in this business are buried, than my dear friend Mags O’Connor. Unbeknownst to many of you, you have drawn your legacy from the ‘old guard,’ of which Maggie is the matriarch. She fought for our industry, nourished it, and cultivated the genius in the Estée Lauders and Max Factors of the world so that fragrance did not remain the exclusive domain of the rich and famous but reached out to every man, woman, and child.

  “There’s no quit in Margaret O’Connor, and when I needed a knowledgeable confidante, she came alongside. Thanks, Mags, for saying to me I don’t know how often, ‘It’s only a matter of time.’ God bless you for being so right!”

  Eyes bright with tears, her mother concluded, “It has been a long and at times lonesome journey, but to the Guild and to all of you, I say don’t let your dreams die. Allow your God-given resilience to carry the day. May Cassandra bring you much joy, much love, and the most promising of possibilities. Again, thank you!”

  It was over. Beth was proud her parents had done such a great job. The orchestra struck up a reprise of “The Sweet Smell of Fortune,” and to another standing ovation her mother took her father’s arm and started to descend the stage.

  Beth grabbed some dark chocolate candy morsels, Maggie’s favorite, hopped down the front steps, squeezed through the hedge, and ran for the front door of her home. She was behaving in a very grown-up fashion, Beth decided. Won’t Mags be surprised at my peace offering?

  Brenda had no time to think. The Dixons exited the stage near another press table.

  Richie Marin made straight for them, right hand planted inside his coat pocket. He pulled the gun out and raised it to eye level.

  It was now or never.

  She kicked off her heels, gathered her gown midthigh, and rushed toward him.

  At precisely the same time, Cassie Dixon stepped onto the main floor a little ahead of her husband. She headed straight for the grim-faced server.

  Brenda sprinted between the tables of startled guests. Her knee collided with a table leg. She went down. Up again, she ignored the pain. Elbows flying, she sent two servers crashing to the floor.

  She watched a handheld camera operator, trying to get a shot of Cassie and Nick, collide with Richie. Cameraman and camera lurched sideways but didn’t go down.

  Richie hesitated.

  Brenda leapt at his back. Hooked his armpits and sank her nails into his
shoulders. His balanced faltered, and she pulled him down on top of her. They crashed onto the press table. It collapsed with a thud.

  “He’s got a gun!” she shouted from beneath him. “A gun!”

  Six media veterans joined the fray.

  A panicked Richie and the Chronicle reporter played keep-away with the revolver. Drugs and Cosmetics Weekly twisted him into a headlock. Paris Review tried to knee him.

  The gun waved skyward and fired twice. Two bullets hit the ceiling. Shrieks and screams came from all directions. Finery flew as guests dove for cover.

  Governor von Bruegger loomed like an iceberg through the fog. He grabbed the wrist of Richie’s gun hand and squeezed it dry of blood. The revolver fired again, this time hitting the floor captain. With a moan she pitched forward. The weapon clattered to the floor. Paris Review kicked it out of the assailant’s reach.

  Brenda extricated herself from the pile and saw with relief that the Dixons, encased in security personnel, were being hurried from the building.

  As a stranger offered his coat to hide the tear in her dress, Brenda cast a rueful eye at Cassie and smiled. A little less together than she had been moments before, Cassie held the Crystal Decanter in what even the most gracious would call a death grip.

  Cassie breathed the cold night air and fought for calm.

  Two federal law enforcement agents and a visibly distraught Mark Butterfield met Nick and Cassie at the hotel’s rear loading dock.

  “Are you two all right?” Mark was green around the gills. When they nodded, he said, “Some guy went nuts up front with a gun, so they played it safe and hustled you out.”

  Cassie’s hands flew to her face. “I heard shots! Was anyone hurt?”

  “The floor captain was hit in the arm. Nothing life-threatening and the only casualty, thank God. World’s full of wackos. They went to commercial, so I doubt the television audience knew the difference.”

  “But why?” Nick insisted. “Who was he after?”

  “Don’t know. He had a roomful of likely targets. The police are interrogating him now.”

  Cassie felt ill. Did this have anything to do with the shooting at their home? “Please send someone to the house, Mark. Beth’s babysitting next door and Mags is alone with Gretchen. Is there a phone?”

  Mark laid a hand on her arm. “Done, Cass. Try to relax. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from the police. Now, I’m afraid, these two gentlemen need to speak with you. They’re federal agents, and they say there’s a problem with the perfume. Agent Piersal and Agent Saganen.”

  “Nicholas and Cassandra Dixon.” Piersal, who looked slightly older than his partner, stepped forward and presented a document dense with fine print. “This is a cease and desist order issued by the Food and Drug Administration. We are hereby authorized to seize and embargo all stock of a cosmetic perfume manufactured by Azure World to be sold under the brand name Cassandra. Further laboratory analysis is required to determine the degree of consumer safety in the application and use of the product.”

  Cassie started to speak.

  Mark cut her off. “Don’t say anything, either of you. Let’s let full legal counsel handle — ”

  Cassie took two deep breaths. Mark’s expression went way beyond the annoyance of tabloid make-believe and perfume bottle tampering.

  Nick, now visibly pale, said, “What is it, Mark? Give it to us straight-out.”

  Mark ran a shaky hand through his hair. “You know those strange reports we keep hearing in the news about animals attacking humans? Some crazy scientist for the Crime Prevention Analysis Lab at CSU studied the incidents and believes there is a high probability — ” He stopped, his expression troubled. “This scientist thinks that the incidents are linked and that in all likelihood each victim wore Cassandra at the time of attack and that the scent caused the aberrant animal behavior. We’ll clear it up. It’s just someone’s idea of weird science.”

  Cassie felt a mounting horror. “What are you saying, Mark?”

  Agent Piersal looked as if he suffered indigestion, and the sour expression made Cassie weak in the knees. God, no. First that mad end to her speech, and now her dream fragrance was the alleged cause of these bizarre attacks?

  “There have been deaths,” the agent said, softening nothing. “Many of the survivors are in desperate condition. We cannot permit distribution and sale of this product until such time as more thorough testing has been done.”

  Nick whirled on their VP. “What is this, Mark? Tell me we did due diligence. Tell me that we tested Cassandra on animals.”

  Cassie didn’t like Nick’s tone or the implications of his words.

  Mark’s pallor intensified. He spoke to the officers, then motioned the Dixons to a more private corner of the loading dock. “Animal testing?” he said, a strangled quality to his voice. “Who are we kidding? There wasn’t time, Nick. The pressure was on to roll out the ad campaign, fast-track the production, go for the media buzz. The Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act doesn’t require animal testing for cosmetic safety. Plus you know the animal rights people get on us if we do too much of that stuff.”

  Nick was shaking. “Too much? How much is too much worth, Mark? One life? Six? How many?”

  “Nick,” said Cassie, “Mark’s on our side.”

  Mark’s chin jutted defensively. “That was your call, Nick. Yours and Cassie’s. We test for sun protection, shelf life, and hypoallergens. We guard against combustibility, skin irritation, and potential lung damage. We wage war on fungal infections and biodegradability. And we don’t go near mercury compounds, vinyl chloride, chlorofluorocarbon propellants, or hexachlorophene. We have been controlled, regulated, and administered to death, so forgive me if when they cut us a tiny bit of slack, we don’t invite more scrutiny, more expense, and more delay. Nothing’s been proven here, so let’s stay calm.”

  Cassie was anything but calm. People dead? Others near death? What is going on?

  Nick buried his face in his hands. When at last he looked up again, the pain of incredulity cut deep across his features. “The FDA will have our hides unless somewhere on the front of those high-priced decanters we slapped a fine-print warning that reads, ‘The safety of this product has not been determined.’ That’s our minimum obligation, man!”

  His trusted VP could not meet his gaze. “And how would that have played right below ‘the very breath of beauty’? I did what you pay me to do absent any specific direction from you. I put it in the positive on every label: ‘Cruelty-free, not tested on animals.’ That probably plays a little loose with the legalities, but you know animal testing will soon be obsolete. The FDA’s developing alternatives. I’m telling you, I think our fannies are covered! Again let me say, the Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act does not require — ”

  Cassie had had enough. “Stop it! While you two debate labeling and liability, families grieve for their loved ones. So we roll out a week or two later than planned. You heard the man. Further testing required. Nothing’s certain just yet. Find that scientist and let’s look at the evidence. This is no time to assume the worst. We go for a second opinion. These things have a way of clearing on their own.” Brave words. She wished her insides matched them.

  She wanted to be alone with Nick, to sort out the incredible events of the evening in private. “Mark, please track down the people involved in these attacks and offer them our support. Say nothing of theories, but simply express our heartfelt sympathies and promise whatever assistance we can give.”

  Mark registered shock. “That’s more than a hundred households. Besides the logistics, do you think that wise, Cass? It might be seen as either an admission of Azure’s liability or an attempt to toot our own horn. If this ends up in the courts, who knows how it might look?”

  “I’m not interested in second-guessing appearances. If there’s the faintest of chances, God forbid, that we brought misery into these people’s lives, no matter how unintended, we must provide what solace we can and do it now, whatever the
extent of the problem.”

  Shaking his head and muttering something about hindsight, Mark left. The federal agents remained, milling about uncomfortably as if waiting for a signal to stand down.

  “I don’t know, Cass,” Nick murmured, face a field of sadness. “It was all good in there. Then once we claimed the prize, it came undone. Have we offended God in some way? Does he take delight in watching us struggle?”

  She did not know and her silence said so. “This is where Fr. Byron might say we trust to the Truth,” she said at last. The next words were bitter with disappointment. “Seems pretty pat, as answers go, and what are we supposed to do with it if it’s the right one? I’d like to see the good Reverend pull a rabbit out of this hat!” Her lower lip quivered and the tears fell. “What did happen in there? People were saying a table server had a gun, but next thing I knew we were smothered by security and I couldn’t see a thing.”

  He shrugged. “I was as blind as you. Some security breech, but don’t ask me what.” Eyes squeezed shut, he had the look of a man beaten. “This delayed rollout will create such chaos, Cass. Warehouse fees. Supplier penalties. Lost shelf space. Not to speak of idle employees and bad PR. I was hard on Mark but he’s right. Some lab rat looking for a name is all this is.”

  The older fed called over. “The scientist’s name is Faye Guterman. You may have seen her on TV.”

  Nick groaned, letting his shoulders sag. The abject look he gave Cassie filled her with cold fear. He lowered his voice. “I never told you this, because I didn’t want to sound too far-out, but in the whole area around the glen in the jungle where the orchid grew, there were no animals. It seemed minor compared with the discovery of the flower. But it felt plenty eerie to go from noisy chaos teeming with chattering monkeys and macaws to a place of such quiet, empty of fauna. Like there was a spell over it. And the hold that little orchid had on me and over the Waronai was hypnotic. A part of me wanted to curl up with it and never leave. The warriors treated it like a god to be worshipped and appeased.”