A Moment of Fragrance

Giovanni Abbiati, a small man, CEO of Abbiati Cafe, a prosperous multi-branch cafe. 1,230 staff employed country-wide. He wears Armani suits, to be dry-cleaned every week, blue ties on Tuesday and Thursday, every other day - black. He bounces his knee and hang his head. He holds a manila folder.

The door opens and Valentine Bentley appears. A tall man, dressed in Prada, short brown hair unruly, gelled. A strong aroma wafts around him.

Giovanni stands. “Mr Bentley! The papers, and the secretary, as arranged.”

The man casts me one brief look and takes the folder. He welcomes us into his office.

The room smells of a sweetness that belongs only to flowers, coated over the top with his cologne’s musk, and bitter underneath with a smell unknown. Among the folds of its sugary fragrance there is a teasing string of another sweet smell, begging to be pulled but too short and brief to be grasped. I grasp it only when he opens a drawer. Sanitizer, ethanol.

The skull models greet us with grins. They sit on a horizontal shelf suspended on the wall above Mr Bentley’s head. They are polished and pristine, and all their teeth are in place. Each one grins down at us, at me. Each one is different.

“She remembers everything,” Giovanni assured, “You’ll never miss a thing.”

Mr Bentley sees me looking. He smiles. He doesn’t say anything.

Note: Tidy the office prior to his arrival. He starts work at nine.