It actually smelled exactly the same. The uproarious scent brought back memories she had long believed lost. Her red lipstick, her trademark back then. When did she stop wearing red lips? The dense, opulent smell of her face powder. Her flawless skin with the few lost freckles under her eyes.
She had been beautiful. You could still see that in her eyes, even though her lips were now pinched and her eyes hidden under wrinkles. Smile lines. She liked to laugh. She still liked to laugh.
She had bought a pair of suede gloves from her first salary and then proudly wore them. I wonder where the gloves landed They had been black, like Audrey's in Breakfast at Tiffany's, she remembered. Because she had loved and worshipped Audrey. Was she alive?
She blinked and inhaled the powder scent again. She had smoked then, she remembered, when it was not yet dangerous, with her filigree fingers in Audrey's expensive suede gloves and a porcelain cigarette holder. There had been smoking everywhere and it had been smoky in the houses at that time. The light softer because it fell through the veil of smoke. Now it was colder, the light. Much was colder now. Sterile. Except for the climate, which got warmer.
She suddenly remembered so much. So many faces that haven't been seen in a long time.
She remembered Shalimar. Her scent. Would she still like him now?
She hadn't smelled him in the streets in a long time. He probably didn't fit so well into today's world anymore, she thought, where so much is better and yet much worse. But he's still beautiful, Shalimar, so beautiful.