A Rose By Any Other Name

A while back, I met a man who was the head of a very, very large hair-products corporation. He sold the corporation to Estee Lauder and has launched a new, smaller company, which was the reason that I met him--to interview him for a story I was writing.

William's firm was also working on this man's New York penthouse at the same time, so I used that as a way to break the ice at the beginning of the interview.

This man happens to be from an Eastern European country that Schwartzenegger also hails from--and has a similar, marble-mouthed (though decidedly less manly-sounding) accent. He's a total riot--and I think a total genius, so please don't get me wrong. He just happens to be a real character, of the Willy Wonka variety.

Anyway, once I told him that William and I were together, he appraised me, tilting his head and staring down through his glasses. I was a little unnerved, and a little amused, unsure of what was coming next.

"I think you and William will have beeee-autiful children," he says to me with a grin.

Taken aback and most definitely blushing, I could only manage to say, "You think?"

"Yes, yes, now let me see--where is the rose essence--" he snapped his fingers. A girl appeared at his side.

"Go get a crystal container and fill it with the Bulgarian rose essence," he tells her. "And bring it back here for this woman."

Uh.... OK.

We move on with the interview. The shopgirl eventually reappears with his requested items.

"This is for you," he says, telling me that it's extremely expensive, rare, and a really wonderful aphrodesiac.

Then he makes matters even more awkward by telling me that all one needs to do is pat a little under the nostrils and breathe in the scent—and then other "wonderful" things will happen.

I quickly change the subject, and he's easily distracted, so the attention shifts to the greening (or lack thereof) of the cosmetics industry.

I come home and tell William. He smells it, and we both pronounce it fairly gag-worthy. We laugh over our perception that it won't be very effective.

It sits on the dresser for a good length of time--weeks or months, probably.

One morning, I'm still sleeping and William wakes up early. He takes Mo for a walk, and on the walk, he wonders to himself if there wasn't something to the Cosmetic Giant's comments. No harm in trying, right?

While I'm still asleep, William dabs on a little of the rose oil. He cleans up and gets all handsome for me. I wake up.

He gets in close for a good-morning kiss. ...And something, or someone, smells funny.

Not wanting to be rude, I figure it's something in the loft that's gone bad. I sniff around, trying to figure out what it could be. I can't seem to find it....until I'm close to William.

"Ughhhh....why do you smell like that?" Just thinking about that overpowering rotten-sweetness makes my throat close up as I write this.

"Like what?" I sort of remember him playing the innocent, hoping the fumes will--I don't know exactly—intoxicate me into thinking I want him, even though it smells like garbage.

I pushed him away. "Oargh. You smell disgusting! Did you PUT ON that rose stuff?" I realize now this is some sort of amorous advance in my early-morning haze. He tried to continue the innocent act, but it turned to amusement and a little bit of embarrassment as I figured out his plan—that he was willing to smell like garbage to get some action.

He keeps trying to get close to me, and I keep pushing him away, and we both have fits of giggles over how seriously awful it smelled. As far as its efficacy at being an aphrodesiac? It was like magnets that you try to put together the wrong way—me propelling across the room any time he came within ten feet of me.

I think he tried to wash it off. It's been a while, so memories are a bit hazy. Eventually, we headed out for the day--sans William meeting his goal--and get in the car. Even that much later, with attempts to rid himself of the smell, I gagged when we were in close quarters. "I can even smell it in herrrrre!" I whined.

And when we got home, the smell hung in the air a bit. In clothes. It wouldn't GO AWAY. This shit is powerful!

Anyway, the bottle has stayed tightly corked and in its place on my dresser since then. If anyone's looking for some repellent, let me know. I've got $200-an-ounce rotting rose up in here.