Passing the Smell Test
by
Owlcroft

"I hate to ask you this . . ." As Lydia hesitated, Beetlejuice looked up from his lab bench.

"Ask me what?" He saw her somewhat anxious expression and added, "You can ask me anything. You know that."

"I know. It's just that you've done so much already, so many different things for the business over the last four years." She twisted her hands in front of her, then sighed and said, "I was thinking we could sell a perfume. Or maybe a perfume and a cologne that are just slightly different. Under the Scarab House imprint."

Beetlejuice looked intrigued, setting down the flask he'd just picked up and squinting into the distance. "I can do that," he said. "Easy stuff. But what did you want to smell like? I mean, what did you want them to smell like? Your customers, I mean; what will they want?"

"Nothing like the New U cologne," she said emphatically, but with a hopeful smile. "But something really different, something that stands out as unusual. It's a solid market and most design firms have a fragrance of their own, so I thought we should, too." She folded her arms and thought. "I didn't really have anything particularly in mind, though. What smells or aromas do you like?"

"Me? Dear one, you really don't need that ask that, do you? Wet garbage, mold," he closed his eyes and swayed gently side to side. "A full landfill in the early morning dew with just a hint of outhouse. Aged skunk with an undertone of fried onions." He opened his eyes to see her reaction and saw her hand over her eyes, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "Not exactly what you were thinking, huh?" he grinned. "You did say 'unusual'."

"Seriously, please, Beej," she begged. "What I had in mind was something a little more . . . traditional, but maybe a new combination or a variation of some of the most popular scents – like flowers or vanilla or amber or something herbaceous."

"Bacon?" he suggested hopefully.

That got an outright laugh from his wife. "But you like the way I smell, don't you? And that's a 'standard' perfume." She made air quotes with her fingers then spread her arms wide. "What would you like me to smell like?" Then before he could speak, she added, "And I'm not wearing Eau de Skunk, not even for you, my darling!"

"Well, the stuff you wear is okay. It's a sort of herb or plant, right? Anything you wear is fine. Although when you don't wear anything at all, that's even better." He leered at her, waggling his eyebrows. He quickly went back to the issue at hand, though – intrigued by it, concentrating. "But what you want to sell your customers on is the standard stuff. Most people seem to want to smell like a river that winds through a forest, fresh and lively, with a hint of trees and the wind mixed in. But that would be a summer smell." He scratched at his straw-like hair. "In the fall, you should make them something that smells like priceless foreign spices tossed into a sacred flame, or a jeweled casque opened for the first time in a thousand years – with aromas of incense and exotic unguents, like vetiver and musk. In winter, maybe cedar mixed with –"

"Wait, wait," she begged, making notes as quickly as she could down the margins of his chemical chart.

"You can have different colored bottles, too, all with the scarab engraved on the front. Green for summer, a rich brown for fall – no russet or gold! And for winter –"

"White for winter," she suggested as she was scribbling.

"Nah. Something like . . . silver, or maybe an opaque glass with sparkles in it, like ice. I can do that. And you make them for men and women; that doubles your market. Just make a slight difference in the chemical ratios." He paused, tapping his cheek with a finger, wearing an unfocused look. "You know I can make all those smells in my lab. And do a spray-on, a spritzer thing, for the younger market and a stronger, dab-on perfume for the older ones – the kind you put on drop by drop. That makes them think of it as expensive but worth it. And do gift sets for the big holidays – Christmas and Valentine's Day!" His excitement was growing as was his grin as he came back to the present. "I'll start right now working out the alcohol and acid balances for the esters!"

Lydia looked up at him appreciatively. "My darling. You always have the best ideas. And you help me so much."

"You used to smell different," he said suddenly. "When we first met, you smelled like . . . some kind of flower or something." He frowned in distaste.

"Yep." She was hastily adding notes to her nearly-illegible scribbles. "Father had given me some perfume for Christmas and I was trying to use it up. I think it was lilies of the valley, something like that. Really too sweet, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "Waaay too sweet. I didn't want to say anything, though, you know – in case it was your favorite or something. But I was awfully glad when you stopped using it."

"I threw it away. I noticed you trying to not breathe when you were close to me. It wasn't hard to figure out how you felt about that particular scent." She chuckled. "And then I was trying to get used to your own special aroma. It was a little overwhelming at first."

"Oh, yeah. Odeur du Garbage, right?" He lifted one of his lapels to his nose and sniffed. "This is different, but still . . . well, me." He blinked then and looked uncertain. "Wait – what do I smell like to you now? I mean, I've . . . you know, damped down some of the smell – changed it some, but there's still . . . I mean, this is okay now, right?"

"You changed the way you smell? For me? Oh, Beej, you shouldn't have done that. I was getting used to it," she said unhappily.

"Lyds, dearest. You used to hold your nose and say 'ugh' when you got close to me. I hated that – that you'd edge away and not want to sit right next to me when we watched movies." Beetlejuice sniffed at his jacket again. "So I . . . modified it a little, that's all – took out the rotten vegetable smell and added a couple of other things. It's okay, isn't it? You seem to actually like it, at least a little."

"I do," she assured him. Then she thought for a few seconds. "Now that I think about it – try to break it down – I think you smell like dirt, or earth, I guess, like the earth packed around tree roots. But a good kind, with something else mixed in – a little woodsmoke maybe? And moss and . . . what am I thinking of? Musk? But it's a good smell. Or maybe I've gotten used to it. It smells like you, Beej, and that's all that matters." She smiled at him and took his hand in hers. "So what do I smell like?"

"You smell like . . ." he paused then closed his eyes and leaned closer to her before saying, "like hope. Like . . . like hope and light and joy. Like the moon in the night and the flow of the sea. Like starlight and . . ." He cleared his throat and shrugged uncomfortably as she looked her love at him. "I think I got a little sappy there for a second. What I actually meant was that you should wear patchouli and chypre because you're as rare and special as they are." He stopped and looked puzzled. "I'm being sappy again, aren't I?"

"I think you're allowed to be, just once in a while." She smiled at him impishly but appreciatively. "What I wear now is sandalwood."

"Doesn't smell at all like feet," he bent to sniff closely and winked at her. "And believe me, I've smelled a lot of old shoes in my time. But now," he gave her a quick kiss and turned back to his bench, reaching for a flask and the igniter, "I want to get the base right for our new perfume. Break time is over."

"Well, but sometimes you just have to stop and smell the sewage." She lifted her brows, grinning, and watched him shriek with laughter.