And sprayed in the hall of a diplomatic conference it might result in quick and friendly agreements.
Our supply department had to order the aerosolized form of synthetic oxytocin from Europe, and while awaiting its arrival I busied myself experimenting with top and central notes for the new perfume. Top notes are usually of the citrus family. They give the scent a fresh, tangy odor when first sniffed, but rarely last long. Central notes are the body of the fragrance, giving it richness and "heart." They are customarily floral scents.
The base or bottom note in the final meld is the longest lasting and gives each perfume its unique personality.
I started blending a lemony extract as a top note with lavender for the central. The oxytocin, if its scent was acceptable or if it had an objectionable odor that could be neutralized or masked, would be the distinctive foundation of Cuddle., When the containers of the aerosolized synthetic hormone finally arrived, I carried them into the lab and organized my private worktable. There were two other "noses" in the lab at the time, but they were intent on their own projects and paid no attention to what I was doing.
I prepared several strips of blotting paper and set up a drying rack.
Then, donning thin latex gloves, I held a strip of paper with wooden tongs and dampened the lower half with oxytocin spray. I passed the strip quickly beneath my nostrils and sniffed. I smelled nothing.
Then I brought the strip closer and inhaled deeply. I caught an odor that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. I tried again.
The faint scent puzzled me. There was nothing in my experience as a perfumer that was even remotely similar. It was not citrus, floral, resinous, oily, or of animal origin. It really had no relation to any scent that I could recall.
I clipped the dampened paper strip to the rack to dry. Then I slowly walked along the shelves of bottled fragrances and extracts, reading labels and hoping to find one that might jog my olfactory memory and provide a clue to which family of scents the hormone belonged. I found nothing that could be compared. The oxytocin seemed to have a unique fragrance.
I returned to my table and sniffed my test strip again.
This time the distinctive odor was more pronounced, as it naturally would be since the liquid carrier was evaporating. Now the drying scent was more Pleasing and triggered a vague association in my mind I could not define. I sniffed once again and was convinced the scent was stirring a sensory memory. But I couldn't pin it down.
I took the test strip from the drying rack with tongs and carried it across the lab to the worktable of Mary Goodbody. If there was ever a misnamed woman it was Mary, for the poor dear was terribly obese. But she was sweet-tempered and an absolutely first-rate "nose." She looked up as I came near.
"Mary," I said, "I hate to interrupt, but would you take a sniff of this and tell me if it reminds you of anything."
"Sure," she said cheerfully. "Hand it over." , She took the tongs and passed the strip quickly beneath her nostrils, taking a small sniff. "Odd," she said.
She brought the strip closer to her nose and inhaled deeply.
She was obviously as puzzled as I had been because she stared at the stained blotting paper a moment, shaking her head.
"Does it recall anything to you?" I asked.
She took another whiff of the diluted hormone, and her eyes closed.
She was silent for almost a minute. Then her eyes popped open.
"Got it!" she said triumphantly.
"What is it?" I said excitedly. "What does the scent recall?
"Mauve," she said.
You know, she was completely correct. The smell of oxytocin produced a memory of mauve. It was the first time in my professional life that a scent had called up a recollection of a color.
I bent to kiss Mary's cheek. "You're wonderful," I told her, "and right, as usual. Thank you so very much."
"What is that stuff?" she asked curiously, handing back my sample.
"Something new," I said, and sailed back to my worktable considerably elated. The recalled memory of mauve fit Darcy amp; Sons' prospectus perfectly. They wanted Cuddle to be a "soft, sentimental, and nostalgic" fragrance. What color fit those specifications better than mauve?
I wasn't yet ready to test the aerosolized oxytocin on my skin. I first had to determine its effects on mood and behavior.
If it proved to have none or had deleterious effects, it would simply have to be discarded.
Our most recent company newsletter had reported the pharmaceutical division was working on a new nasal decongestant to be packaged in an inhaler. I took the elevator up to their enormous lab and asked one of the chemists, Tony Siddons, if I could have any empty plastic inhalers.
He gave me three of them.
I returned to my own lab and spent the remainder of the afternoon carefully packing one of the inhalers with sterile cotton batting that had been saturated with synthetic oxytocin.
Finished, I plugged the inhaler into my nose, once in each nostril, and inhaled deeply. I had an almost instantaneous physical reaction. I was flooded with warmth, a condition somewhat akin to a hot flash. And I felt a mild tingling in my extremities. But these symptoms lasted no more than a minute or two. Then I went down to the garage to drive Greg Barrow back to Rustling Palms Estates.
We were almost home, chatting of inconsequential things, when Greg said,
"Would you drop me at the Seven-Eleven, please, Marleen. Mabel phoned and wants me to pick up a quart of milk.
I'll walk home from there."
"Of course, darling," I said. "But there's no need for you to walk home, I'll wait for you, sweetheart."
He turned slowly to look at me. "There's really no need for you to wait," he said. "I'm sure you're anxious to get home."
"No problem, " I said gaily. "Herman is taking a client to dinner tonight, and Tania and I are just having a salad. No cooking to do, so I'll be delighted to wait for you, dear."
He said nothing more until I pulled into our driveway.
Before he could get out of the car, I grabbed his arm, yanked him close and kissed his cheek.
"Have a wonderful, wonderful evening," I said. "And sleep well. I love you, Greg."
"Thank you," he said faintly, and hastened away.
Tania was downstairs, setting the table in the dining nook.
"Hello, you beautiful thing!" I caroled. "You look so charming in your jeans and T-shirt. Give Mother a great big kiss."
She complied but then drew away to stare at me. "You okay?" she asked.
"Never felt better in my life," I said, laughing. "Give me another hug," Herman came downstairs, showered, shaved, and dressed for his dinner.
Well, don't you look handsome!" I cried, embracing him. "I married a movie star!"
He pulled away to inspect me. "If I didn't know better," he said, "I'd say you had a few."
"Love your jokes!" I said. "Just love them! Oh, honey, hurry home as soon as you can." I looked around to make certain Tania couldn't hear.
"Sweetie," I whispered, "you and I are going to have such fun tonight.
It's been a long, long time, but tonight we'll make up for it. I love you, Herm."
"Yeah," he said. "Sure." And he left hastily.
I heard myself chattering nonstop during dinner. But before it was finished, I became so sleepy I knew I had to get to bed before I collapsed into the salad bowl.
"Mommy is going to take a nap," I said brightly to Tania. "Now you finish your dinner like the angel you are, and I'll come down later and clean up. I love you, sweetheart. Love you, love you, love you!"