Waiting for Olfactory Girl

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Live without an apartment for a month.

What is it about a scent that allows your mind to escape? To entrance back to a misplaced history. To rediscover a place that at once felt seamless and everlasting. What is it about a scent that helps you lose the present and place the past? What is it about a scent?

I followed her perfume. It was about all I knew of her. It came up this weekend while I was traipsing around the Wynn with the other big-hotel gawkers. But the scent provided me the escape I needed from the gold misery and reflecting pools. And when my other senses jumped on board to see if it was really her, it was too late. The scent, the woman, the moment was gone.

A woman’s fragrance is an ancient and sophisticated bloom. It is the one thing that always catches me by surprise. It is invisible and dramatic. But what I smelled this weekend did not take me back years, it took me back months. Back to a time where I was still growing, still learning about my own sexuality. Framed within a superfluous mission, I was able to experience a part of life I did not know--the intoxicating beauty of an older woman.

Amanda was her name, and she opened up a door to the desert rain. With her I let the drops fall on my face and the desert blooms consume my naked body. He scent hypnotized me back then. I felt the hot wind on my face and saw the colors of the Mojave sky. Her scent took me away from her 17th floor Wilshire apartment. It took me to a place in time more beautiful than I’ve ever seen. In her arms, I was anywhere.

I waited outside her building. If I couldn’t get by her doorman, I would never get up to the 17th floor. If he called her, she would not buzz me up. That I was certain. It needed to seem fateful, and above all romantic. I could not enter the same way as the cable guy. I had to enter as a hero.

The key to getting past security is the ability to fit in. To exude a confidence and feeling of belongingness. I was a bit worried about the crazy beard and hair. Even a guy at basketball who is middle eastern told me to stay away from London with that beard. It was self-deprecating and in poor taste to say the least, but there was some truth to his statement. We’re all profiled, based on our skin, clothes, facial hair or the car we drive. This is one of those times I was glad I drove a Porsche. Maybe the thing with Derek not taking my car was fate. Maybe I needed it to to get to this moment and beyond.

I pulled into the circular driveway, just behind another car and I walked in. I started to talk to the person in front of me, and gave a nod to the doorman. He smiled and let me enter. Hopefully, the hard part was over.

I stood at her door, scared shitless. I remembered nothing about this woman except her scent. But that was all I needed to find her. I stood at her door, knocking in my head. Replaying the events that took place inside that door mere months ago. Hearing the music, seeing the sunset. Taking in the sky and the night. My life unfolded like a map that lead me here. I knocked.

Beauty opened the door, but I did not enter. For the beauty came from someone unknown, someone much younger than Amanda. It was her daughter. It all came back to me. The violin, the daughter at UCLA, the familiarity.

“Can I help you?” she said, looking confused. I realized without a Porsche to balance things out, Rob Lowe seemed a bit menacing. But I had no recourse but to say what was on my mind. My mind was slow, and all I could do was answer the question.

“I’m here to see Amanda, could you tell her Rob is here?”

“Rob, who?” she said, evaluating me in her head. I just smiled. If I said “Rob Lowe,” she would have thought I was fucking with her. I’ve been there, believe me.

“Just Rob, could you just tell her Rob is here. That’s all.”

She gave me a final once over and shut the door behind her. I stood there waiting, holding another scent. The scent of warm lilies clutched in my hand, filling the hall with romance. But I’m not sure even that could save this situation. I wanted to be outside her door in the rain, holding a boombox until she heard me. But instead, I had her co-ed daughter rounding her up. I had lost control.

“Rob?” she said, looking equally as confused as her daughter. Amanda came out from her apartment and shut the door behind her. I had caught her off guard. I was the creepy one night stand guy who went from the boy next door to ugly Brad Pitt.

“Are you ok?” she said, sounding more like a mother than a lover.

“I’m fine.”

“Did you forget something here?” She said looking for meaning for my intrusion. Qualifying it with the pragmatic rather than the creepy or romantic. At that point I wanted to reach out and take her. To hold her arms and pull her close. To smell her hair and tell her “I forgot this,” and kiss her with the brilliance of desert rain. But the moment was not right. There was no boombox or opportunity. So instead, I did the second best thing.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” I said, appealing to her nurturing spirit as much as the burning nectar inside her. Behind my scruffy persona, my eyes told the story. I was trying to be as charming as possible. To summon everything I knew to get me there. I needed her tonight, not merely for her walls, but for her spirit.

She smiled, and rubbed her hand across the side of my face.

“You’re all scruffy,” she said playfully.

We looked at each other for a day’s moment. She smiled again.

“My daughter is here, but she is going back to campus. How about we meet for a real drink, instead?”

This time I was on the receiving end of the charm. I smiled, a glow that only someone like her could bring upon a soul that had been as weary as mine for the last few days.

“Meet me at Casa Escobar in an hour,” she said.

I smiled, nodded and started to walk away. She watched me leave. I felt her eyes.

“Rob, aren’t you forgetting something?”

I walked over and planted the kiss I wanted. It was mad and beautiful. Stark and wandering. But it was not just to make the moment. It was to make the moment lasting and vibrant. It was an open-mouthed bookmark to the past, so years from now, the sweet smell of lilies in the warm summer air would be another touch point for my return to this hallway, this life. This beautiful woman.

“That was romantic Rob, but I was talking about the flowers,” she said wryly.

I laughed and handed them to her. We were back to our not-so-distant moment, both knowing what was to come, at least for tonight. This time, we could go deeper with the strength of reciprocity. We were not one-night stands anymore. We were California wine and California stars.

God, I wanted it to rain.