The Hazel Project

One night Tim and I were walking down sunset in Hollywood to see a band and the smell of the street was particularly pungent. It reminded me of that smell in New orleans around Pat O’briens in the French Quarter. We walked past one club with a velvet rope, tended by a bouncer and very beautiful woman outside with cell phone in one hand and cigarette in the other. She was wearing a form of that quintesstial camisole (sp) a garment I’m still trying to understand the purpose of. But it looked different on her. Maybe it fit properly or had it hand made. It looked really good for once, I noticed. But what caught my attention was this amazing perfume she was wearing.

It was subtle but drowned out the septic smell of the street in such a way I stopped after walking a few yards. I told Tim, “That woman smelled wonderful!”

Tim laughingly says, “oh? go tell her that then!”

Of course I regret from ever mentioning this to Tim, and he ups the ante straight to “triple dog dare.”

Tim says, “You go tell that beautiful woman you dig her perfume and I’ll buy you a shot of Jagermeister.”

“mmm”, I thought to myself, “that sounds expensive.”

With hands in pockets thinking about how to frame such a statement, I go back up to her, She looks like a 1979 Cheryl Tiegs clone; Her skin only knew perfection, tall, straight blonde hair, Charlies Angels sunglasses, and I say,

“You know, My friend and I just passed you and I wanted to tell you that your perfume smells great.” I opted out saying she smelled better than the street.

And her reply?

“Oh, thanks honey, that’s sweet”,

It seemed like she’d pat me on the head too if I stood any closer. I walked away smiling, thinking how she was all dressed up, having a smoke outside the club waiting to be entertained by men ten years younger than me, and of considerable means.
All of them caught up in traffic.

She seemed bored out of her mind, but knew her gig well, whatever that was. Apparently for me it was exquisite use of a perfume that went way beyond anything I’ve passed at an Estee Lauder counter.

So Tim is anxious to know what she said and I told him she called me “Honey”. Of course Tim thinks this is hilarious. And I do too.

We begin to talk about when it happened in our culture that men felt like they were unable to give a woman an honest and sincere compliment. You know without them feeling like some boundary was being crossed, and the guy was simply coming on to them. Even now I feel like I have to defend my intention of a simple compliment.

Tim makes good on his offer and we toast to a different way of gender communication. In a Sam Keen sort of way. I enjoy a free shot of Jagermeister, that begins to taste like dessert.

Thanks for checking in everyone.

Stephen A. Thomas