To catch up on the adventures of Nawt so far, if you’re new to the story, you can go here. This is the continuing adventures of Nawt Agin, with a new installment most Fridays, rookie perfumer for Irrational Fruity Florals, who has been contracted, against his will, better judgment and perfuming principles, to make the celebrity scent for Voracia Tatas, who is famous for absolutely nothing.
When we last left Nawt, he had tracked down Jean Claude Ellena, Perfumer Par Excellence, bumped into Voracia Tatas, the woman he is making the celebuscent for, who turns out to know JCE since her early years, speaks 16 languages, and is not a dim bulb as we all had thought. JCE turns out to speak English, and he promises to meet them both for dinner. So we are left with Nawt and Voracia sitting down for a cup of coffee as Voracia tells the truth about who she is…
Nawt: I think I deserve some explanation, please, Voracia. You really had me going with that dumb, vapid act.
Voracia: Oh, pish-tosh, we’ll get to that. Listen, let me grab a cup of coffee for us both, and then I’ll explain. BTW, the name isn’t Voracia, it’s Ann.
Nawt: Ann? Just plain Ann? No last name?
Voracia: *giggles* Oh, sorry, no need for that anymore. Inegma. Ann Inegma, though my nickname has been Voracia for quite some time.
Nawt: Of course it is. By all means, go, get the coffee, I’ll wait here. *Nawt drums his fingers on the table as he watches the spectacularly shaped Ms. Inegma make her way to the counter, order and head back to the table*
Voracia: Well, where were we? Oh, yes, who am I? You do have some time, this could take a while? I really feel bad that I played pretend with you, but it was necessary. I need to go back quite a number of years. My father and Jean Claude knew each other in Europe, which is where I spent quite a lot of time as a girl, until my parents were tragically killed in a Dodo bird accident when I was 8.
Nawt: A what?
Voracia: Dodo bird accident.
Nawt: They’re extinct.
Voracia: Well, they are now, but just hush, I’ll tell you the story. We were traveling in Mauritius on an expedition to find what, by one report, was a Dodo bird. The Dodo, as you say, has been extinct for 300 years, so this was great news, if true. As we were traveling by night in the area the Dodo bird had reportedly been last seen in, a large object hit our windshield — the car ran off the road, hit a tree, and both of my parents were killed instantly. I was in the back seat of the car asleep with Tantalus, my rag doll, and survived. *Voracia reaches in her purse and pulls out a slightly stuffed, reeking rag* See, Tantalus? Meet Mr. Nawt. I always keep him with me. I know he’s worn and smelly, but I can’t bear to be parted with him. Okay, Tanty, time to go back to bed. *she places him gently back in her purse and stares lovingly at it for a while*
Nawt: Voracia? Voracia!
Voracia: *Voracia looks back up and snaps her teeth, then shakes her head*
Nawt: *draws back quickly* I’m really sorry about your parents, but I’m also afraid… to ask… what hit the windshield?
Voracia: The Dodo bird, of course. Now they really are extinct.
Nawt: Of course. Please, continue on.
Voracia: Well, the accident, of course, woke me up, and I must have gone into shock for days, as I wandered the woods with Tantalus. This was a very remote area of the world, and I only survived because I was adopted by a pack of wolves.
Nawt: Wait, wait, wait. Wolves? Like the big, gray, furry, wild animals? Those wolves?
Voracia: Yes! They’re quite intelligent and put big store on the family. Except for Hector, who I am still convinced was a lycanthrope and not an actual wolf, he just had a humanish look about the mouth. After two years, a group of hunters discovered our pack, killed several of my family in some misguided rescue attempt and ripped me away from the bosom of my new family, though I can’t say I was sorry to see that Hector was among the slain. I was quite distraught, as you might imagine, and it took me some time to assimilate back into just speaking instead of growling, barking, walking on all fours and eating small, furry, darting animals. (drawing from Klaudia Marr Gallery)
My parents were very much do-gooders with no living family except me, and there was no one with the time and ability to deal with a little wolf girl who didn’t speak and was prone to biting with no warning. My parents’ friends prevailed upon the Sisters of Unending Chatter, who had educated me before the accident, to take me in as a boarder. It’s a little known Order who, instead of taking a vow of silence, takes a Vow of Chatter, talking 24 hours a day in 6-hour shifts. It is there that I slowly returned to being human… going from just snapping in annoyance at the ceaseless noise to howling, which turned into a more human screaming, then talking, and then taking my turn chattering.
You would have liked them, I think… the wolves. Keen sense of smell. Though they tended to like things that smelled more of rotting flesh. Jean Claude spent a lot of time with me through those years, using smell to help bring me back into the more human realm. It was during that time that he created my perfume, “Untamed Beauty,” and now you probably understand the source of the name and my nickname, Voracia. Great scent, I do need to bring you a sample. Animalic base, almost wolfish, little leather and fur, a slight hint of rot and skank — well, maybe not so slight — from the jasmine and gardenia, enveloped by raw woods and crushed leaves, with a perky top that lures you into thinking it’s just another pretty scent until your nose keeps bumping into what’s under the leaves… something dead and a little mangled. Doubtful it would have broad appeal.
Once I came of age, there was no money for college, it was up to me to make my way in the world. There is very little call for a young woman who looks like me, speaks 16 languages, and was raised by wolves and nuns.
Voracia: Yes, it sure is. I moved to California, hoping to escape some of the painful memories Europe held for me. Unfortunately, I am not a particularly talented person in any one area, so I wound up with a couple of bit parts in bad movies, which were panned – my performance and the movie – universally, and I slowly slipped into the Hollywood party circuit, mostly because they remind me a lot of the Chattering Sisters and the Wolves — felt like home, you know? — but without the morality, compassion, intelligence, and charity. In Hollywood, it’s easier and better to play dumb than to let people know I was smart, so I slowly cultivated this exterior. It cut down on the questions of why I sometimes growled or pounced on small, furry animals or chattered nonstop for hours.
It did occurr to me at some point that I could be a “good hot bad girl” too, but Santa Badgerlina already has that reality role locked up. How in the world did she get sainted? This woman is tattooed over most of her body with badgers, plays with scythes and fangs, used to wear her ex-husband’s kidney around her waist, offhandedly remarkr to “Vanity Fair” that she’s into bestiality, and somehow she’s now regarded as all that is good, moral and wonderful in the world?! Sorry, it’s my early training, I really never know when to shut up once I get going — well, I do know, but I have to remember I’m not on the Talk Clock ® anymore.
Anyway… I had to find a way to make a living, and so far all I’ve managed to do is play dumb and get paid to show up at parties. My parents would be horrified if they could see me now… my life is truly an agonizing scream of superficiality. I’ve gotten the act down so well, I’m actually starting to become Voracia on too many days.
So… that’s all.
There is silence for seconds and then minutes as Nawt just stares, and then he bursts out laughing
To be continued…