It was a great performance, but it didn't fool me one bit.
I mean the guy was slick but I was slicker, I knew immediately that he was really interested in the ZAP thing, which meant big bucks were involved.
"Yeah," I said, "Mcwhortle talked about it some."
"What did he say?"
"Tell you what," I said, "I figure that project is something special.
Very important. Top Secret stuff."
He stared at me. "I told you there'd be an extra two big ones if you can get me a sample."
"So you did," I said. "But I prefer a pay-as-you-go plan.
How about an extra grand right now?"
His expression froze up. "You wouldn't be getting greedy on me, would you, Jess? "
"Nah, Willie," I said, "not me. I'm just doing what you do.
You told me you buy information from people who know and sell to people who want to know. Right? Well, I know and you want to know. Greed isn't involved. It's just business."
His face was still set, but he dug out his wallet and this time he handed over the cold cash, his hand to mine, no white envelope. I thanked him and told him what Mcwhortle had said about the injections making pit bulls out of mice.
"And does he think it's going to work on men? the Weasel asked.
"He said he doesn't see why it shouldn't if they can make it into a pill or powder."
"Did he happen to mention the name of the chemist who's working on it?"
The schmuck wanted me to show him my hole card? What did he take me for-a total twerp? I was going to feed him information all right, a little bit at a time. Cash on delivery.
"No," I said, "he didn't mention any name." Brevoort nodded, tucked his wallet away, and started out. He paused at the door.
"That's a very attractive frock you're wearing tonight, Jess," he said.
"Thank you," I said.
After the door closed behind him, I stood there a moment, still startled.
How many times have you heard a man use the word "frock"? I wondered, What's with this guy? must confess I had high hopes for a perfume based on oxytocin, the "cuddle hormone." If it succeeded, the wearer and anyone who sniffed it would become emotionally warmer, more affectionate, more caring. It seemed to me that in today's world such a scent would be of inestimable value to both sexes, but especially to men.
But Cuddle might have an even wider application. I was aware of the exciting things the Japanese were doing with what are called home fragrances or area fragrances. Perfumers were releasing scents through the ventilation ducts of homes, offices, and factories. It was claimed that certain tailored fragrances reduced stress, calmed anxieties, and improved the morale of workers assigned to boring routine jobs.
In other words, mood and behavior modification via the sense of smell! it was fascinating to imagine what effect Cuddle might have on a large gathering in an enclosed area. It was possible that such a mollifying scent, released, through air conditioning vents, could be used to control prison riots.
And sprayed in the hall of a diplomatic conference it might result in quick and friendly agreements.
Our supply department had to order the aerosolized form of synthetic oxytocin from Europe, and while awaiting its arrival I busied myself experimenting with top and central notes for the new perfume. Top notes are usually of the citrus family. They give the scent a fresh, tangy odor when first sniffed, but rarely last long. Central notes are the body of the fragrance, giving it richness and "heart." They are customarily floral scents.
The base or bottom note in the final meld is the longest lasting and gives each perfume its unique personality.
I started blending a lemony extract as a top note with lavender for the central. The oxytocin, if its scent was acceptable or if it had an objectionable odor that could be neutralized or masked, would be the distinctive foundation of Cuddle., When the containers of the aerosolized synthetic hormone finally arrived, I carried them into the lab and organized my private worktable. There were two other "noses" in the lab at the time, but they were intent on their own projects and paid no attention to what I was doing.
I prepared several strips of blotting paper and set up a drying rack.
Then, donning thin latex gloves, I held a strip of paper with wooden tongs and dampened the lower half with oxytocin spray. I passed the strip quickly beneath my nostrils and sniffed. I smelled nothing.
Then I brought the strip closer and inhaled deeply. I caught an odor that was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. I tried again.
The faint scent puzzled me. There was nothing in my experience as a perfumer that was even remotely similar. It was not citrus, floral, resinous, oily, or of animal origin. It really had no relation to any scent that I could recall.
I clipped the dampened paper strip to the rack to dry. Then I slowly walked along the shelves of bottled fragrances and extracts, reading labels and hoping to find one that might jog my olfactory memory and provide a clue to which family of scents the hormone belonged. I found nothing that could be compared. The oxytocin seemed to have a unique fragrance.
I returned to my table and sniffed my test strip again.
This time the distinctive odor was more pronounced, as it naturally would be since the liquid carrier was evaporating. Now the drying scent was more Pleasing and triggered a vague association in my mind I could not define. I sniffed once again and was convinced the scent was stirring a sensory memory. But I couldn't pin it down.
I took the test strip from the drying rack with tongs and carried it across the lab to the worktable of Mary Goodbody. If there was ever a misnamed woman it was Mary, for the poor dear was terribly obese. But she was sweet-tempered and an absolutely first-rate "nose." She looked up as I came near.
"Mary," I said, "I hate to interrupt, but would you take a sniff of this and tell me if it reminds you of anything."
"Sure," she said cheerfully. "Hand it over." , She took the tongs and passed the strip quickly beneath her nostrils, taking a small sniff. "Odd," she said.
She brought the strip closer to her nose and inhaled deeply.
She was obviously as puzzled as I had been because she stared at the stained blotting paper a moment, shaking her head.
"Does it recall anything to you?" I asked.
She took another whiff of the diluted hormone, and her eyes closed.
She was silent for almost a minute. Then her eyes popped open.
"Got it!" she said triumphantly.
"What is it?" I said excitedly. "What does the scent recall?
"Mauve," she said.
You know, she was completely correct. The smell of oxytocin produced a memory of mauve. It was the first time in my professional life that a scent had called up a recollection of a color.
I bent to kiss Mary's cheek. "You're wonderful," I told her, "and right, as usual. Thank you so very much."
"What is that stuff?" she asked curiously, handing back my sample.
"Something new," I said, and sailed back to my worktable considerably elated. The recalled memory of mauve fit Darcy amp; Sons' prospectus perfectly. They wanted Cuddle to be a "soft, sentimental, and nostalgic" fragrance. What color fit those specifications better than mauve?
I wasn't yet ready to test the aerosolized oxytocin on my skin. I first had to determine its effects on mood and behavior.
If it proved to have none or had deleterious effects, it would simply have to be discarded.
Our most recent company newsletter had reported the pharmaceutical division was working on a new nasal decongestant to be packaged in an inhaler. I took the elevator up to their enormous lab and asked one of the chemists, Tony Siddons, if I could have any empty plastic inhalers.
He gave me three of them.
I returned to my own lab and spent the remainder of the afternoon carefully packing one of the inhalers with sterile cotton batting that had been saturated with synthetic oxytocin.