Gigi

The road stretched ahead like a thin ribbon disappearing into distant green hills. I peered out the window to get a bearing on where I was after hours of monotonous driving and the sun's glare deposited black spots in front of my eyes. As I refocused on the road I realised the pop music that was filling the void had been replaced by a crackling white noise.

How many kilometres had I driven, mindlessly staring at the bitumen unfolding ahead of me, subconsciously listening? As I pondered this, the crackle grew louder, almost to the point of a deafening crescendo. I turned the volume knob on the radio but the crackle only increased. Then, when I thought I couldn't stand the din any longer, it subsided, replaced with a voice chanting, "Gigi, Gigi, Gigi..."

Who was Gigi? I didn't know anyone called Gigi. I fumbled with the volume knob again and tried turning the radio off completely. The dial wouldn't budge and I realised I was stuck with this chanted intrusion until I stopped the car. But I couldn't stop; I was on my way to a book launch and any detour would make me late. I hadn't read the book, but the opportunity to participate in a cultural activity on this island made me determined to go. And the subject of the book intrigued me. The author, Rebecca Forrester, had written a memoir about her time as a fragrance chemist to the stars called Heaven Scent. My love of all things celebrity, coupled with the fact I was a perfume aficionado, meant I had to be at that launch.

I drove on, the chanted name itself becoming white noise as I climbed up into the hills towards my destination. The road wound around this steep mountainous terrain while the atmosphere took on a blue haze from the towering eucalypt trees. I opened my window and gulped in the freshening air, spying a strip of ornate terraced shops ahead of me. The middle shop sported an exquisite peacock blue facade, proudly displaying the name Bookish Emporium.

I quickly parked my car and walked towards this teal haven, a sense of anticipation filling me. As I walked inside I saw the Emporium's owner finishing up his introduction for Rebecca, and she started speaking as I sat down. I hung off Rebecca's every word, thrilling at the thought of her creating special scents for the film and music stars I knew by tabloid. I was first in the autograph line and Rebecca smiled at me as I handed my book over.

"Who should I make it out to?" Rebecca asked.

"Oh, um, Marisa please," my words tumbling out in my excitement.

I wanted to peek at what Rebecca had written, but made myself wait until I was in my car. Once sitting in the driver's seat, I opened the cover of my book and saw Rebecca’s words to me: "Hi Marisa, your signature scent is the flirtatiously floral Gigi. Love Rebecca."