The door opens on a dusky, blue-violet car. Anise is in control of the steering wheel. Violet is sitting quietly on the passenger's side. Tonka and Vanilla are overflowing from the back seat.
Anise drives very fast. Wowee! Florals are flying past the windows in a glorious blur of color.
We stop and pick up one of my favorites, Heliotrope, with its elusive PlayDoh note.
He has been on the road for awhile and hasn't bathed. His aroma is filling the car. Violet doesn't approve of picking up hitchhikers, especially big, strong ones.
"I am starting to feel faint, she says."
It is getting dark, and soon nobody can see anything, but the smells are still whizzing by, blowing in the windows as we drive full-strength, full-speed ahead.
L'Heure Bleue is one of the world's most exciting scents. Enigmatic and thought-provoking, it dares you to formulate a strong opinion of it. Can anyone say, "Oh, it's O.K. but it's kind of blah," or "I don't
remember if I tried that one?”
Meanwhile, back at the car, Anise sees Carnation hitchiking. He pulls over.
"No," says Violet. "Don't pick him up. There isn't any more room."
"Aw, come on," argues Anise. "Let's do it."
Vanilla, Tonka, and Heliotrope agree. They form a unified opinion. Violet is the odd vote, and the odd note.
"I'm leaving," she declares. "Let me out."
Carnation piles in. They roar down the road at full throttle, into the dusk, trailing their mingled aroma behind them.
It is dark; it is too late to walk home. Violet cries by the side of the road.
, 12 April 2007, United States