The woman displayed a box. White Diamonds. Elizabeth Taylor.
America’s number one fragrance, said the woman, reverent.
Who’s Elizabeth Taylor? asked Josette.
Duh, Cleopatra?
They’d both pondered the cover of the VHS at the video rental.
Plus friends with Michael Jackson?
Oh yeah. Josette sniffed the spray nozzle. Fancy. I like this.
Enjoli, in a hot-pink box, decorated with an embossed golden flower.
But Mom’s not this spicy. I mean, she smells good.
It would clash with Dad’s Old Spice.
So would the Wild Musk?
Maybe Wind Song.
Grandma wears that.
The woman behind the counter brought out an elegant box hiding behind the others. It was a lavendery pinkish box, one of those expensive indeterminate colors. A blackish gray band. The bottle fit firmly in hand, a band of embossed diamond shapes, neatly swirled glass. Eau Sauvage. The woman sprayed a little on a Kleenex, waved the tissue in front of their noses. Waited. The smell was green and dry. Faintly licorice. Maybe a hint of cloud. A trace of fresh-cut wood? Crushed grass. A rare herb in a rare forest. Nothing dark, nothing hungry. Something else, too.
Most people think this one smells too plain, the lady said. It’s not like any other perfume. Nobody buys it. We only have this one bottle.
Snow watched Josette, her eyes wide. Josette breathed the scent in again.
I wish things could be that way, said Snow.
So pure, said Josette, putting down the bottle. Must be pricey.
It’s a bit expensive, yes, said the woman. She seemed embarrassed by the amount. I just work here. It’s not my store, she said.
Yeah, said Snow. It’s kinda too much. I was saving. But, well.
It can be for a man or a woman. Eww Savage.
Eau Sauvage, said Josette, with an exaggerated French accent. We gotta have it. She turned to Snow, eyes sparking.
Smell!
This is it, said Snow.
Josette had an old-lady-type money pouch hidden deep in her purse. She took it out. Snow hugged her passionately.
Then right there, in front of the counterwoman, they began to cry because they both knew: the trace was there. The cologne also smelled like LaRose’s clean hair on a cold autumn day when he came in and Emmaline would bend over him.
Oh, you smell good, she used to say. You smell like outside.
Leaving the drugstore, Josette and Snow talked about the outside smell and decided they were psychic with each other like in a witch coven.
Or maybe our people had these powers before the whiteman came.
Yeah, said Snow, and we lived five hundred years.
I actually heard someone say that.
Me too. And we could change the weather.
I believe that one.
Great, said Snow. Let’s do it now.
I shoulda been named Summer, said Josette. All you can do is make it snow.
It was blustery. They were walking toward the place they would meet their father. He had agreed to pick them up after he got Ottie settled back home. They were going to sit in the Subway, maybe split a twelve-inch turkey with American cheese, on whole wheat, for their complexions, with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, and sweet onion sauce dressing. For sure they would. They were hungrier than usual and had enough money left for the turkey sub if they just drank water.
It’s better for us, said Josette, who loved Sprite.
They showed us in health class, said Snow mournfully. Just a can a day you get diabetes.
Landreaux never bought soda because he didn’t want his kids to lose their feet. When he put it like that, they’d squint as if in pain, Yeah, Dad. They drank forbidden pop at Whitey’s. Now, waiting for their father, they stared down at their sub sandwich wrappers and looked amazed.
I ate that so fast.
How’d that happen? Josette burped.
Gross. Now what?
We’re broke so we sip our healthful waters.