Aphrodisiac (12 page)

“Guess I’ll catch a glimpse of him tonight,” he said. “At your sex toy party.”

My mouth went dry. “Where’d you find out about that?”

“Jaleel told me. Invited me to come along.”

Panic attack number twenty-four. I was about to say my boyfriend would be working tonight, when Eldridge cut me off.

“Of course, if you’re bullshitting me, the standard out would be to tell me he’s got to work and can’t be there.” Mr. Boxer had me boxed in. An unmistakable call-your-bluff grin sneaked across his face.

“You have some very serious mental disorders.”

He started laughing. “So, lay me down on your couch, Doc.”

I stormed into the women’s locker room and hurt my toe kicking one of the lockers. Damn Jaleel. Inviting Eldridge to my Do-Me-Good sex toy party. Maybe I should’ve canceled after all. Would Eldridge really show up? What if he brings Tara? And what guy was I going to introduce as my prize hunk? I zoomed through my brain files for male friends. He’d have to be gorgeous, available at the last minute and willing to play along.

Did I need this? In less than a week Curtis would be coming for me. I should be spending every second of my time figuring out what brought the likes of Curtis down on Gwen. And making sense of her poem so I could find that cockamamie tablet. And then doing whatever in hell she expected me to do with it. Hey, anything for a friend. I wanted to scream.

In the meantime, thanks to my oh-so-intelligent choice of workout clothes, I was stuck in this locker room until Eldridge left. But how would I know when he’d gone? I couldn’t keep peeking out the door without being noticed. Well, I could try.

On about the twentieth peek, I opened the door a crack and saw him hitting the speed bag with his back to me. Flipping open my cell, I pretended to be talking as I slithered past him.

Just as I was making my elusive exit, Eldridge called out, “See you tonight.”

***

As I stomped through the door of our loft I was greeted by Benita’s mynah bird. “I’m horny! I’m horny!”

“Don’t remind me, Petey. You’re talking to a deprived woman.” I threw my gym bag on the sofa and stood in front of the mirror that hung in the foyer. My face did look tired. I’d had rotten sleep in the three nights since Curtis gave me a one-week deadline. Let’s hope Tim had some answers.

After giving Uncle Pete his food pellets, I switched on my laptop and checked my e-mail. Aha. A response on the license plate trace. The plate number was from a 1990 Honda Civic that belonged to a woman upstate. And the vehicle had been reported as stolen. Benita was right. These guys were pros.

In my bedroom I wriggled out of my denims. My answering machine blinked, indicating two messages. Please. No more romantic overtures from Curtis. Here goes.

“
Hi, Saylor, it’s Fip. I need your help. Would you please try to persuade Benita to return my calls? I really miss her. I just need to see her face. You know how much I love her. Help me out, will you? Thanks, Saylor. You’re the best.
”

Sigh. Benita was so lucky. I wished she wouldn’t be so hard on him.

Next message: “
Hello, Dr. Oz. This is Alan Grossman. We met at Lana Klein’s Love Your Body workshop. Are you free for dinner tonight? Call me anytime on my cell at
…”

Fingertips trembling with excitement, I snatched up a pen and frantically scribbled down his number. Who said there was no such thing as divine intervention? This was a bona fide windfall. A great looking, intelligent man who also happened to be a world-famous film director. Pinch me. Was he really interested in Saylor Oz, former munchkin? Maybe he was casting for a remake of
The Wizard
. In any case, he would certainly do as my impromptu trophy guy.

Wasting no time, I called Alan and asked if he’d mind being my date for my Do-Me-Good party first and then having a late dinner afterward. He loved the idea. I could tell Alan wanted to talk awhile, but I had to cut him off. I needed to reach Fip before Benita came home. I got him on his cell and suggested he come to the demo party. Fippy thanked me profusely, promising to buy several of Do-Me-Good’s latest.

Was I crazy? I had a lethal deadline, and here I was dabbling in romantic games. Guess even an impending death threat wasn’t enough to topple getting laid from the upper echelons of my priority list. Blame it on Eldridge Mace.

After making check-up calls to my mom and brother, I showered and threw on fresh panties and a tank top. Trying to de-puff my tired punim, I sat at the kitchen counter with my face in a bowl of ice cubes.

A door opened behind me. “You better hang your head in shame, girl.” Benita was home. “What happened to your workout? Run into somebody we both know?”

I looked up and smiled. There was a slight swelling above her right eye. “You could use a little ice yourself.” She plucked a cube from the bowl and pressed it to her brow. I dumped my ice cubes and checked her face. “Neomycin and concealer should do it.” I had to proceed cautiously. Benita would need some breaking in on the Fippy surprise package. Clearing my throat, I started by telling her about Alan Grossman. When I got to the part about Fippy coming to the party, she glared at me, dumbfounded.

“How could you? I get it. Payback for Jerome Markowitz.”

“No. It was Fippy’s voice. He was begging for my help.”

“Okay, Ms. Social Worker, I’m going right downstairs to invite Mr. Fellows. I hear he’s lonely and looking for a good time.”

“Go ahead. Maybe he’ll buy some sex toys. Although, judging by the way he likes to squeeze my butt in the elevator, I think he’s a hands-on purist.”

ELEVEN

Considering the joys of midtown traffic and parking lot prices, Benita and I opted instead to be gouged by a cab. We had our driver make a pit stop in SoHo at the Center for Being so I could drop off my shopping bags filled with Do-Me-Good demonstration products.

By three thirty we were sitting in an office at Fragrances Worldwide Incorporated on Fifty-seventh Street. I’d loved perfumes all my life and never knew they were created in a place like this. Yet here I was, in the sunny headquarters of this multinational corporation that supplied perfumes for big names like Givenchy, Dior, Lauder, and Halston. Benita wore sleek zebra print pants and a beige silk blouse. I had on a cerulean blue halter dress with a flared skirt and scooped out neckline. Knowing I’d be among scent-conscious people, I’d put on an upscale yet casual cologne. Ralph Lauren’s Pure Turquoise. Cassis, night-blooming cereus and patchouli.

Tim “the nose” was one of about thirty perfumers making up an elite group at FWI. He was clearly disappointed with the gift I’d chosen from my box of Gwen’s possessions. Pardon me. The 1910 D’Orsay perfume bottle could be a museum piece. On the phone when I made up the story about a gift I believed Gwen intended for him, he had warmed up, and even sounded anxious to meet with Benita and me. All of a sudden he became a snoot again. And nervous. What gift was he hoping for? The coveted tablet?

“So, are you two the executors of her estate?” A wall of glass and the Manhattan skyline formed a backdrop for Tim, who slouched behind a crescent-shaped desk that was covered in a sea of bottles and glass vials. He was a chubby forty-something with a Dr. Evil voice and short brown hair combed straight forward. He wore oversized Armani pants with a slim-fitting jacket and a long silk scarf tastefully draped around his neck. All in shades of brown. His eyelashes were painted with mascara, and his subtle touch of green eye shadow matched the color of his tinted contacts.

“No,” Benita said. “We were her best friends.”

Tim seemed suspicious, so I added, “Gwen’s brother gave us some of her things. As well as her suicide note.” Benita shot me a dirty look. On the way here we’d agreed not to give out too much information. But we needed to get a dialogue going if we wanted to learn anything from him. “Wasn’t it tragic? I know Gwen was working with you on a perfume for the last three months. Do you have any ideas about why she would take her own life?”

His eyes darted side to side and his lips went bitter lemon. Was it guilt? How much would Tim stand to gain by getting rid of Gwen and taking her mysterious tablet? He dropped his chin and stared at his hands as he spoke. “I keep asking myself the same question, especially since Gwen knew she’d have a humongo deal before the year was out. Of course, when Raffy introduced me to Gwen she warned me about her mood swings.”

Why hadn’t I taken Gwen seriously when she’d mentioned this to me? Some friend I was. “A deal, for her new perfume, the one she named Heaven’s Daughter?”

“Heaven’s Daughter. Puh-leez.” He placed his fingertips on his cheek. “I dumped that name in a hurry and gave it a good old-fashioned number for our tests. Later, the company that bought it would’ve christened it with something hip.”

“So, somebody actually wanted her perfume?” Benita asked.

“Are you kidding? Any company would pay big bucks to own a perfume like Gwen’s. She could’ve had her pick. Especially now with Givenchy and Donna Karan putting out limited edition naturals.”

Benita leaned forward, looking like she needed more convincing. “We called the offices of several fashion houses and asked about her perfume. No one seemed to know anything about Gwendolyn Applebee.”

“We weren’t at that stage yet. Even FWI wasn’t involved. I took Gwen on as a personal project. Wanted to test things first, see if her claims were real. I wasn’t going to risk making an ass of myself with my associates.”

Tim reached into his pocket and produced a pack of Altoids. “Just had lunch.” He opened the tin and held it out. We passed. He placed one in his mouth and danced it around with his tongue making squishy sounds. “According to a recent news report, Altoids are the best for odor in general, Listerine mints for covering up garlic, and Starbucks mints for coffee.” He forced a smile. “I’m a fool for test results. Don’t care what subject. Anything for a little empirical data.”

Fascinating. I went back to hardball. “What financial arrangements did you and Gwen have? You must’ve had some investment to do all this work with her. And what kind of claims were you testing?”

There was a knock on the door. An assistant in a lab coat trotted in and asked Tim to evaluate a scent. I watched, intrigued and somewhat envious of a person who earned a living smelling beautiful things.

The assistant held out a blotter that looked like a skinny white Popsicle stick. Tim discreetly deposited his mint into a tissue and prepared himself with a drink of water. He waved the blotter beneath his nose, paused, then said, “This juice needs help. Will you please do what I asked with the top note? Make it greener.”

When the assistant left, Tim’s face took on an expression I couldn’t quite read. Kind of like an angry hamster. “You ask a lot of questions. Who sent you?”

Benita and I exchanged a quick glance. “Nobody,” I said. “Why?”

Tim huffed and pushed back his chair. “I think you’d better leave.” He went to the door with a righteous stride and opened it. “Out. Now.”

We walked toward the perfumer, who waited at the entrance like a smug security guard. This couldn’t be happening. Tim was the only person who could help us discover if the perfume-tablet connection had anything to do with Gwen’s death. I refused to leave without getting a step closer to the person who wanted my friend murdered. Even if it was the man in front of me.

I let it fly. “Gwendolyn Applebee did not kill herself. She was murdered. A group of men were hired to make it look like a suicide. We believe it might have something to do with her new perfume, but the police won’t help us based on speculation. We intend to uncover who was behind it and why. And frankly, a lot points directly to you.” I handed him my business card. “Give us a call when you’re ready to talk.”

Tim looked at the card. He pushed the door closed before we reached it.

Had I won him over? Or was this the part when the guy pulls out a gun with a silencer and wastes the two babes who knew too much?

“You’re the sex therapist,” he said. “Her old buddy.”

“Gwen told you about me?”

“Honey, Gwen filled me in on you as soon as the tests results came in. You were at the top of her show-and-tell list. I also remember her canceling that idea and deciding to clam up till a contract was signed. Gwen got so paranoid I don’t think she’d have told her priest.” He flitted his fingers in space. “Please have a seat.”

Benita and I did an about-face and returned to the chairs in front of his desk. I thought back to how Gwen had been afraid to jinx her opportunity by telling me the full story. Let’s hope I’d get it now.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, perched on the corner of his desk, “but one can never be too careful. You see, I also have reason to believe Gwen was murdered.”

Was I surprised? Not really. A perfumer had to have keen instincts. Then again, he could be putting on an act. Trying to throw us off. “I didn’t mean to spook you,” I said. “We have misgivings about most people these days.”

“Honestly, I had nothing to do with Gwen’s death. We got along famously.” His sad tone sounded genuine. “I really liked her. She was brilliant and creative. I got off on the idea of an oddball outsmarting everybody and getting filthy rich. I don’t deny wanting her perfume formula. You have no idea what I would give to have it. But I wouldn’t kill for it. How long do you think someone like me would last in a prison? Puh-leez. Anything but that. And even though Gwen and I kept the nature of our project secret, plenty of people here knew we were working together. As you’ve said, I’d be the first one accused.”

“Then you should be willing to help us,” I said.

“I am.” He jammed in another Altoid as if it were a downer he badly needed. The man would’ve been a good subject for my paper on Erikson’s oral gratification theory. Pursing his lips, he gave the mint a quick isometric suck. “Listen, someone hacked into my computers right around the time of her death. I feel certain it was related.”

“The computers here at FWI?” Binnie asked. “They’re networked, right?”

He nodded. “FWI’s system is enormous. The hacker managed to find a backdoor route into my files. I’m sure they were hoping to get Gwen’s perfume formula. But I don’t have it. In fact my file on her fragrance had a record stating that the eccentric creator, Ms. Gwendolyn Applebee, refused to reveal her formula to anyone, including me. And that she was adamant about keeping samples in her possession, allowing me only one tiny vial to work with on my own. So, Gwen’s nuttiness might have saved my ass. But I’m still walking on eggs.”

This perfume formula had to be the “recipe” Curtis asked for in the Hummer. But why? Everybody was making counterfeits these days. “Did your company investigate?”

“They did,” Tim said, “but they weren’t able to determine who gained access. Just between us, I think I know who was behind the hacking. And I’ll bet it’s the same person who put the hit on your friend.”

“Have you gone to the police?” Benita asked him.

“Hey, I cared about Gwen, too, but I’m not going to get myself killed over her. If it’s the man I think it is, believe me, he’s not the kind of person you want to piss off. Right now I’m just waiting for the day when I can stop looking over my shoulder.”

I knew the feeling. “If you give us this person’s name, we promise never to tell anyone where we got it.” I held my breath.

Tim flung his head back in a sarcastic laugh. “Hah. As if he wouldn’t guess.”

“You said you’d help us.” Benita spoke through clenched teeth and looked ready to explode. I put my hand on her arm hoping to settle her down. If we pushed too hard and lost him, we were sunk.

Making his way back to his chair, Tim sat down and folded his hands neatly in front of him. “Sorry. I need time to think. Give me a couple of days.”

My feisty roommate sprang from her chair, swiped aside a bottle on his desk and yanked Tim out of his seat buy his lapels. “We don’t have a couple days, Mr. Nose.”

Tim’s fingers made a feeble effort to pry her hands loose. He caught my eye. “Call off your Doberman or you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

Oh great. Would getting arrested for assault qualify us for an extension on Curtis’s deadline? “Stop it, Binnie. Let him go.” I grabbed her shoulder. “He has no clue how lethal our situation is.”

“Sorry. I just lost it.” She released Tim. He dropped into his chair, shaking a bit, a combination of panic and indignant rage on his face.

Benita returned to her seat, and I gave Tim a rundown of my Hummer encounter, minus the pussy wager. When I told him about our one-week deadline and the threat on our lives, he gawked at me with an open mouth. But the thing that really moved him was Gwen’s journal note saying I knew where the tablet was. His demeanor changed. Suddenly he wanted to be my best friend and help joggle my memory. Interesting.

“So,” I continued, “according to both you and Raffy, Gwen’s perfume was created from instructions on this tablet nobody can find. But I’ve heard there are computers that can analyze smells and show the blueprint of any fragrance without knowing the original formula. Is that true?”

“Yes,” he replied. “We have that technology here. I’ve already copied the scent of Gwen’s perfume. No problemo.”

“Then how come you don’t have the formula?”

“If only it were that easy.” He massaged his brow with his fingers. “The computer was unable to precisely identify some of the ingredients she was using. Believe me, I’ve tried over and over. Made several versions with synthetics and even a few with naturals. I could match the scent, but the effects we got from the version made by Gwen simply cannot be replicated. And without those results, we’re left with just another so-so perfume. Of course, if I had the tablet and another talented archaeobotanist to experiment with me…”

“You mentioned results. What kind are you talking about?” I asked.

“You missed out on the best part of the story.” Tim leaned forward like a gossip with material suitable for Page Six. His voice dropped to a confidential whisper. “Gwen’s formula happens to be an extremely powerful and unique aphrodisiac. But, get this. The juice doesn’t work when it’s on a man’s body, only when it’s on the skin of a woman.”

Benita and I looked at each other and let out a simultaneous “What?”

After a hesitant giggle, I asked if he was joking.

“No,” Tim said. “This perfume not only makes a man go bonkers over the woman wearing the stuff, it gives him frequent and longer lasting erections. Naturally, our tests showed the effects vary according to the conditions. It’s most intense after about ten minutes in close quarters. You know, candlelight dinner in a quaint restaurant. Backseat of a taxi. Living room sofa.”

“What if it backfired?” Benita asked. “A woman wearing this fragrance in the street could get mauled.”

Tim shook his head. “Not so. Those ancient perfume-makers were brilliant. The aphrodisiac property seems to be activated by pheromones, but only
female
pheromones. You know, those biological secretions women release when they’re sexually aroused to communicate with the male olfactory system. In other words, if a woman is not attracted to a man, or if she feels uncomfortable or inhibited, her pheromone production level shuts way down. Meaning, the chemicals in the perfume have nothing to interact with.”

Recalling Gwen’s face gleaming with excitement the day she told me her newest fragrance was going over the top, I didn’t doubt Tim was telling the truth.

But Benita did. “Maybe your test results were bogus. Shouldn’t they be conducted by an outside company?”

His eyes flashed her an incensed look. “I told you, these were just preliminaries. What do you take me for? I’m a professional. I would never represent a project that put my reputation on the line without first making sure it was the real deal.”