The Fortune Smeller

Week 1: Chapter I (Part A)

Shaia needed a sabbatical, not from work, but from life. Last weekend, she and Dan drove three hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic so she could meet his parents.

“They’re pretty normal,” Dan said without taking his eyes off the road. “Maybe they’ve grown a bit more rigid since retirement — and my mom’s never been shy about speaking her mind — but they’re really not that bad. It’s going to be fine, trust me.”

Shaia just nodded and smiled back, but inside she sensed something would go wrong. Now, back home alone, she didn’t know what to do. She walked around her studio apartment, wondering what phrase had tripped her up, what comment had betrayed her. She wanted to call Dan and talk it over. No — she’d wait for him to call. He owed her a call; more than that, he owed her some sort of explanation. Or at least an apology.

The afternoon limped on. Rather than stew in her thoughts, Shaia left her apartment to clear her head. Once outside, she realized she was hungry. She went to the Irish pub at the end of her block and ordered a burger. As she rearranged the slices of pickle and tomato, she thought about what to do next.

She reached into her handbag and dug for her phone. As she pulled it out, a slip of paper came with it. Careful not to dirty it with burger grease, she wiped her hands on her napkin before unfolding the note. Scrawled across it was an address. She recognized the blocky handwriting of her hairdresser, Seraphim.

“You don’t have to call ahead of time,” Seraphim said from behind the barber’s chair. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t take appointments, anyway. What I do remember is that she lives in a creepy basement-level apartment.”

“How much does she charge?”

“I’m not sure; it’s been a while. But not much.”

“Sounds pretty strange to me.”

“It is strange,” Seraphim said, brushing on a few more highlights. “But I swear on my mother that this lady has a gift. She’s like an archeologist, digging away until she finds the source of your troubles. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t experienced it firsthand. Trust me: If you feel like your life is spiraling, then you need to talk to Madame SheBlanc.”

Chapter I (Part B)

Thirty minutes later, Shaia stood before a rundown two-story walkup. There were two sets of steps: one leading up, and one leading down to the apartment below. She gave the note another glance, then descended the short staircase and buzzed the door.

A few seconds went by, then a minute, then two. Shaia rubbed the toe of her sneaker across a crack in the pavement, waiting for something to happen. She was tempted to buzz again — or maybe just leave — until she heard someone call out.

“Hello down there.”

Shaia looked up. Standing on the sidewalk above was a man with thinning hair and a big, checkered grin. He was hunched over, leaning on the handles of a grocery cart filled with what looked like pork chops and bottles of diet soda.

Before Shaia could answer, he yelled again. “She won’t answer the buzzer unless she recognizes you. Newcomers have to knock. And don’t knock just once — has to be twice. Otherwise, she’ll think you’re from Con Edison, and there’s nothing she hates more than utility companies…”

“Oh, thanks,” Shaia yelled. “Can you tell me anything about her? Can she actually tell the—” but by the time she asked, the old man was out of earshot, the wheels of his push cart squeaking down the block.

She turned back around, her eyes drifting up toward the clusters of dead insects suspended in spiderwebs above the door frame. This is crazy, Shaia thought to herself. But she had come this far. So, without giving the matter another thought, she knocked twice.

Another minute went by. Shaia shook her head. But as she turned to go, she heard a rustle, then a scratching at the door.

“Down, Chubby!” a voice shouted.

As the door creaked open, a smell rushed toward her, some wonky amalgamation of sandalwood, sage, and wee-wee pads. It swirled around her nostrils and made her eyes water.

The door remained slightly ajar. She still had time to turn and run. But she didn’t. She waited.

Week 2: Chapter II (Part A)

At first, all Shaia could see was a cyclopic eye staring back at her. She offered her most disarming smile. The door opened slowly.

Then Shaia felt something warm and slimy crawl from her ankle toward her knee. She jumped backward and looked as an ugly little Shih Tzu jumped up and down, pawing at her legs. It smelled old, but not wanting to be rude, she bent down and gave it a few pats on its head.

“Chubby! What did I say? Get back in the house. Now! Come on!”

The dog retreated, and in its place a woman appeared, a thick hand and an even thicker forearm emerging from the doorway. She opened the door a little further. Her build was stout but strong, with a hooked nose and sagging skin. The white of her eyes flickered beneath her dusty blue eyeshadow, and her neck was wrapped in a half-dozen chains of various metals, beads, and stones. Shaia found the whole appearance somewhat cliché, but she was interested nonetheless.

“Who sent you?” the woman croaked.

“Seraphim. They said I didn’t need an appointment.”

“Hmmm,” Madame SheBlanc hummed, considering the name. Then it registered. “Good stock, that Seraphim. Going to be reborn as a hummingbird, if I recall. Or a pheasant. Maybe a moth. I can’t remember. Something with wings…”

Shaia blinked a few times.

“I charge $200 for a reading. Take it or leave it. I have all the money I need; I do these as a favor.”

“I only have $70 in cash with me. I can transfer you money or something if you give me your information…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, girl. Just give me what you have and step inside. I need to prepare. You just make yourself comfortable.”

Without counting the money, Madame SheBlanc tucked the bills into her brassiere and turned around, silently beckoning a follow. The apartment had a strong smell, a woodsy scent that reminded her of the headshop she bought joint papers from in high school.

“Sit on the couch,” Madame SheBlanc called out with her back turned.

Shaia plopped down on a faded L-shaped couch pushed against the wall. A brass floor lamp cast a dim light across from her. She waited patiently for her eyes to adjust to the artificial darkness, and shortly after, a square table came into focus, its surface covered with papers, pill bottles, and an ashtray brimming with soot.

Shaia heard pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. The faucet burst into life, and the crack of a stricken match echoed throughout the tiny space. Another smell wafted into the room, this time a mix of sulfur and spring. After another few minutes, a toilet flushed, and Madame SheBlanc re-entered the living room.

“Grab those, would you, dear?” she asked, motioning her head towards a pair of metal folding chairs on the other side of the room.

Again, Shaia obeyed.

When she turned back around, she saw the table had been cleared, except for a small tissue box. They both sat down. From within her robes, Madame SheBlanc produced a small, narrow-tipped bottle. She quickly inserted it into her left nostril and inhaled sharply. She then did the same thing with the right. Finally, she grabbed a tissue and blew her nose three times.

“Do you know how this works, deary? Did Seraphim mention my particular gift?”

Shaia shook her head. “To be honest, I don’t know much about anything. All Seraphim said was that you interpret the past. And I guess that’s what I need. To understand what happened and to figure out what to do next?”

Madame SheBlanc closed her eyes, her expression easing into something foreign and dreamy. “Seraphim did not steer you wrong. After our session, you will be awash with relief. I must tell you, though, my process is unconventional. The Great Spirit blessed me with a gift, and it can be a shock to the —"

But before she could finish, Chubby darted into the room and once again began sniffing and licking at Shaia’s ankles. She fidgeted away. The dog persisted.

“Chubby! No! No! Okay, I’m taking you out.” And with that, Madame SheBlanc stood from her chair, scooped Chubby into her arms, tossed the pet into the back bedroom, and slammed the door shut.

“Sorry, she must smell something she likes on you. Now, where were we?”

Shaia tried to stay cool. “You were telling me about your gift.”

“Oh, yes. That. Well, we can get to that later. For now, why don’t you begin by telling me why you’re here in the first place?”

So, Shaia began explaining to Madame SheBlanc all that had unfolded with her boyfriend’s parents. At first, the words stumbled out. But then the sentences began to materialize. She started from the beginning.

“My family didn’t come from much. My dad worked in roofing; my mom was a part-time preschool teacher. She managed a café on the weekends. It wasn’t a bad upbringing, but I didn’t want them to struggle. That’s why I’ve been climbing the corporate ladder.”

Madame SheBlanc sat there, watching.

“Dan, my boyfriend, well, he’s from a different world. His family “summers” on the coast, and he kind of takes it all for granted. I think he likes that I’m grounded, you know? Kind of an outsider. Or like an animal at the zoo; I haven’t quite yet figured out which. Anyway, we’re different, and I don’t mind feeling different, but when I’m with his parents, I can’t help but feel…judged.”

The folding chair creaked as the big body of Madame SheBlanc rocked forward. She listened and made faces and picked her nose.

“Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes, tell me more.”

Chapter II (Part B)

“Okay. So, last weekend we went to visit them at their house upstate. Up until this point, I had only met them a handful of times. They were always nice; well, cordial, at least. But this time, as soon as I walked inside, it was like they had it out for me. Maybe they thought we were getting serious or something. But his mom said something about my teeth, then my nail polish, then the frayed stitching on my handbag…and that’s really just the tip of the iceberg…”

“Mhmm,” she grunted.

“Then the whole weekend spiraled from there. They treated everyone they met like garbage. When we were out to dinner, all they could do was complain that their pool hadn’t been properly shocked and that the landscapers hadn’t trimmed back the rhododendrons. It was all crazy. But then they started asking me questions about where I grew up and all that sort of stuff…”

Madame SheBlanc raised her hand as if it were a pause button. Then she stood up and rounded the table until she was behind her. The street hummed quietly from outside. But otherwise, all was silent, a silence shattered by a colossal sniff.

Shaia jumped as Madame SheBlanc’s nose danced across her neck, along her shoulders, and down toward her spine. Shaia couldn’t stop grimacing as the soft cartilage gently pushed against each of her vertebrae.

“Hmmm,” Madame SheBlanc murmured. “Yes, quite interesting; interesting but not unexpected.”

Shaia shivered. “Hey! What are you doing?”

She heard a few more sniffs before Madame SheBlanc re-entered her view and sat across from her.

“I’m doing exactly what I do.”

“Which is what? You smell people? Is that it?”

“It’s more complicated than that, but yes. I smell people. Each of us gives off a spectrum of chemical compounds that make up our personal scent. These aromas of different molecular makeups are inexplicably linked to certain emotional states and cosmic vibrations. And these secretions tell a story — a story that I alone can read.”

Shaia didn’t want to be rude, but she failed to mask her disappointment. Clearly, this lady wasn’t anything more than a quack.

“Oh.”

Madame SheBlanc smiled again. “I can sense your skepticism.”

“Well, I mean, it’s hard to believe.”

“Is it? Bats can see in the dark with sonar; dolphins can detect with echolocation; ants communicate with chemical signals; there’s no reason to think that humans — special ones — can’t inherit the same mystical abilities that science has so readily accepted to exist in the animal kingdom.”

“I guess you have a point…”

A silence settled over them. “So,” Shaia said, “do I stink?”

The old woman grinned so wide that Shaia could see the molars missing on the upper right side of her mouth. She leaned back in her chair and cracked her neck from right to left. “That you do. But the question is, of what?”

Week 3: Chapter III (Part A)

Shaia glanced at the door. “This isn’t going to be painful,” she asked with a twinge of hesitation.

“Not at all, dear. It will be cathartic if anything. The bacteria on your skin are very good at communicating with the outside world. And at the moment, they’re humming a sad and lonely song.” She paused. “But I sense the chorus is about to begin, a chorus of hope.”

“Really? You can detect all of that from my body odor?”

“Yes — and more.”

“And more? Like what?”

“I initially picked up a history of disappointment, of nervousness.”

“You smell my nervousness?”

“No, that’s not what I smell. Your personal scent is more like rubber and new tennis balls and lots of lemon verbena. But it’s the interpretation that matters. Like reading tea leaves or tarot cards. It’s up to me to decipher their meanings. And what they’re telling me is that you suffer from a severe case of imposter syndrome.”

Shaia sat back in her chair, dumbfounded. She nodded.

“Like you’re masquerading as something you’re not…”

“Maybe. I mean, sometimes. But doesn’t everybody?”

The air in the room had thickened. Shaia noticed some perspiration building under her armpits.

“Yes. But that’s not the core issue. It’s not being an imposter that bothers you; it’s the fact that you don’t approve of what you’re pretending to be, of what you’re becoming.”

“I never thought of it like that before,” Shaia murmured.

“And your time with those wicked people reconfirmed that.”

“So what should I do?”

Madame SheBlanc grabbed a tissue, blew her nose, and discarded it somewhere on the floor. Then, without warning, Madame SheBlanc grabbed Shaia by the wrist and pulled her forward across the table. In one swift motion, she inhaled the length of her arm, from hand to shoulder, shuddering the whole way. Shaia tried to pull her hand away, but the old woman gripped it tightly.

Chapter III (Part B)

“Hey! What are you doing?”

But Madame SheBlanc remained in her trance. “Oh, my,” she hummed. “Oh my…”

Shaia looked concerned. “Really? It’s that bad?”

“Your body tells one story, yet your palm tells another.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you are a liar. It means you haven’t been honest with Madame SheBlanc.”

“Excuse me?”

“You harbor immense hatred, a great burning anger. By the Great Spirit, I can smell it clear as ammonia! The sulfur, the aldehydes, the ketones, the smoke. It’s as if the pits of Hell have opened in this very room!”

“I’m not lying,” Shaia cried out. “I don’t know what you’re smelling, but I’m not harboring some crazy rage. I take responsibility for myself, and I don’t blame anyone for anything. I had a shitty weekend, with some shitty people, but that’s the extent of it.”

“You lie. You lie! I can smell the hostility. It clings to your hands like a vile glove. Who do you hate? Your boyfriend? Your parents? Yourself?”

Chubby’s bark made Shaia jump, but Madame SheBlanc ignored the noise and continued her beratement.

“You come into my house, sit at my table, and call into question my ability? I was a moon queen in a past existence! WHO ARE YOU TO CONTEST ME? Now get out of my house, you angry she-devil and never come back! And tell Seraphim to stay away as well. You are banished! BANISHED!”

“YOU are insane!” Shaia shouted.

She stood up from the table and stormed across the living room to the front door. Before letting herself out, she turned around and said, “Your whole apartment smells like piss, and according to my knowledge of absolute bull shit, that means the ammonia has likely rotted away a good chunk of your brain!”

Once outside, Shaia sucked in a breath of air. Then another. God, she thought to herself as she continued down the block towards the East River. What a crazy old hag…But Shaia couldn’t deny that the first half of the reading had struck her as genuine. The sentiment resonated loudly, and she felt sort of guilty that the session ended the way it did.

Maybe she was angry after all. Maybe she was in denial. Maybe…

Shaia raised her hands to her face and sniffed her palms. Then she inhaled again, this time holding on to the scent. It was familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place it. Until she felt her stomach grumble.

And that’s when she realized it.

The smell on her hands. The sulfur. The char.

She had a hamburger for lunch.