We met in a tiny, stinky bar in any small German town. At the weekends, we had the choice to go to the cinema, to a rock disco or to this one bar that was located in the basement of a mediocre restaurant. Normally, I would never in my life have visited such an almost run-down place. The atmosphere was like something out of a worse 80's movie: dimmed lights, bizarre music, unmotivated employees. And in addition a disgusting, almost acrid smell of musty, damp cellar and cold smoke.
Without any ulterior motive I went to this bar at that time, I just felt like having a drink in combination with a good conversation. When I just stared into two empty eyes at my order "A White Russian, please" and then declared that the Lord would please mix me vodka, Kahlua and milk with a good portion of ice cream and took a look at the audience there, I knew that I needed a lot of luck to get at least a halfway decent drink. At this point I put the good conversation to one side.
I sat down and watched the events from a healthy distance. Young One-Million and Sauvage wearers, who wanted to impress the Lady-Million and La-Vie-Est-Belle wearers with their coolness when drinking beer and their pseudo-skillful moves when playing table football.
The White Russian I ordered was impeccable, to my delight. Even the bar in Miami, where I had treated myself to the same drink during a business trip a few days ago for the horrendous price of US$ 23, would not have been able to make the drink as well as here.
So while I was sipping my really good White Russian and noticed the prelude of ice-cold milk, coffee liqueur and a slightly alcoholic vodka note, I noticed something else at the other end of the tiny room, which immediately aroused my interest.
There she sat, in a short, beige evening dress, with beautiful, almost golden curly long hair. She was wearing make-up, but only subtle. She was wearing a discreet golden necklace with a tiny pendant, which I hadn't even noticed at that moment. Over her beige evening dress she casually wore a black leather jacket, which could easily have been her boyfriend's or father's, since it was at least four sizes too big for her. With her huge blue eyes she looked at me and smiled shyly. And although I interpret her smile as shy, I now believe that she knew exactly what she was doing.
And while I was still thinking of a suitable saying to address her skillfully and to distinguish myself from the beer-drinking one million faction, the next moment she was already sitting next to me on the red bench and naturally stretched out her hand to me and said "If you wanted to know my name: My name is Hannah!". I did not even remember what happened to me. Meekly I introduced myself. She stared at me with eagle eyes only to say very coldly "You're not from here, are you? I confirmed her assumption, told her where I came from, what I was doing here and explained to her how great the White Russian was here. I ordered one for her and another one for me. But before Hannah could say anything, I had already noticed her scent: Besides the nuances of the White Russian that was on my table, I smelled her leather jacket, which on closer inspection was an extremely expensive designer leather jacket. The leather smelled noble and took up almost the entire space around her.
While we talked about which movies we liked, what our favorite cocktail was, how we believed the earth had come into being and both were firmly convinced that ducks have something magical about them, I kept noticing their perfume. It smelled seductively of sweet flowers, almost bitter vanilla and very calming amber.
As the conversation progressed, we both noticed our passion for travel, I told her about all the places I had lived and worked, and she told me how she dreamt of Moscow and Paris. I told her that I had to fly to Moscow the next weekend for work and that she should come with me. She just smiled and said "We'll see if you get in touch with me tomorrow!"
As we talked like this, we got closer and closer. I stroked the back of her hand and she had her arm around my shoulders.
When I came closer to her with my head to whisper into her ear how good she smelled, I noticed, in addition to the previous fragrance composition, a huge load of musk, which I had not noticed before. It may be that I had missed the musk because the leather jacket and the strong scents were drowned out by the sugar-sweet flowers, the almost masculine vanilla and the beautiful amber. But now that I had gotten so close to her, I also smelled the musk, which seemed almost masculine, but was still beautiful on this woman.
When I complimented her, all she said was, "Do you want ice cream?" Without even waiting for my answer, she took my hand and we left. The cold air blew around our ears as we left the bar. She only wore her short dress and over it this heavy leather jacket. She shivered. I took her in my arms. "Where's the ice cream now?" she asked me. With a shrug of the shoulders I replied "I don't know, I'm not from here! So we walked through the city and actually found another ice cream parlour that was open at this time of the year. Once there, we both ordered a vanilla ice cream shake. An extra large one. With cream.
The milk was ice-cold and the vanilla ice cream was not sweet at all, it must have been real vanilla, that's how high quality this shake was. We looked at each other again and again and again and again something of its fine scent paired with this designer leather jacket blew over to me. "Whose leather jacket is this?" I asked her at some point. "Your friend's? Or your dad?". She just grinned and said "If it was my boyfriend's, we wouldn't be here now!"
When we left the ice cream parlor, we took each other in our arms and held each other for a moment. She smelled so damn good. We looked into each other's eyes once more and finally gave each other the kiss I had been waiting for all evening. I tasted the vanilla ice-cream shake again and smelled again this jacket, her perfume and now again a bit of the White Russian we had a few hours ago.
"I gotta go," she said.
"How? Now?" I asked, disappointed.
"Yes, now. But call me tomorrow," she replied and gave me another kiss.
"But how do I find you, Hannah?"
"You'll think of something," she grinned, gave me a very last kiss and disappeared.
In the morning I could still smell her scent on me.
I started the mill and googled it with a cheerful smile.
Then I found it:
Rosendo Mateu - 5 - Floral, Amber, Sensual Musk.
Parallels are pure coincidence and Hannah may never have existed. My signature scent in winter, on the other hand, already exists: RM - 5