Happiness in a bottle- Wk 2 of Brigit's Flame
Golden motes rose and spiraled in the lance of sun that came through the skylight as the teenage girl dusted. She paused for a moment, dreamily staring out the great bow window overlooking a pond where swans circled. Her mother stuck her head in.
“Hurry up, we need to get the vacuuming done before they get home,” she said. Spotting a large bottle of perfume perilously near the edge of the vanity, she pointed. “Be careful of that. They say it’s the world’s most expensive perfume.” She hurried on.
The girl picked it up. “Joy de Jean Patou,” she read softly. She examined the heavy square-cut bottle with its plain embossed label. Darting a glance at the door, she pulled out the stopper, taking a sniff.
Like a genie rising, voluptuous scent encircled her. This was not the chemically-enhanced bath spray she was used to. This was the blood of truckloads of real roses, bushels of delicate French jasmine blossoms, crushed to pulp and distilled into precious golden liquid.
With another glance at the door, she rubbed the crystal stopper on her wrists. An unfamiliar heady feeling swept over her as she flew about her work: she had stolen Joy! Wearing the world’s most delicious perfume, inside she became a suburban Cinderella, lady of the manor disguised as a maid.
She cleaned the master suite from then on. The level on the bottle of Joy got a little lower, but that wasn’t noticed. What was noticed was the shine of her eyes, the self-confident sparkle of someone who knows she is meant for better things. When she attained them no one was surprised, not even her mother.