Mr Blank is Molecule 01 personified. A deceptive woody floral musk, released 2006, that projects brightly but remains undetectable at the same time. An arty and avant-garde fragrance aimed at the outsiders of this world.
London, 2006. Season - early spring. Enter Mr Blank: a ghostwriter living in an undisclosed part of the city. A shadowy individual, loved by many but known by few, penman of novels, poems, plays and songs.
Real name John Smith, Mr Blank is something of an enigma and resides in a small apartment overlooking the River Thames, where he spends a great deal of time perched at a desk. His home has the appearance of an artist’s studio, with its stacked bookshelves and exposed floorboards, and smells of a combination of dry wood and damp paper.
John is tall and clean-cut with short grey hair and nondescript features. He talks in a low voice and moves stealthily, as if hovering from place to place. A discreet man by nature, he draws little attention to himself but leaves a lasting impression on all those who grace his presence.
Today that person is Marielle: a pretty young professional whom he meets at a hotel bar. As the two lock eyes, Marielle throws him a searching look.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she shoots.
“I don’t think so” John replies.
“No, I’m certain of it” she insists. “You look really familiar. Do you work in the arts?”
“You could say that” returns John, teasingly.
As the two begin talking, Marielle finds herself overcome with feelings of déjà vu. Something about Mr Blank gives her goosebumps and she can’t quite put her finger on it. It’s as if she’s known him her entire life. Could it be his voice? The way he walks? The way he dresses? His cold grey eyes are unlike any she’s ever seen before and yet they ground her like a friend’s do. He, of course, reveals little about himself, which frustrates her immensely.
The conversation rolls on for some hours, during which time Marielle learns of his love for music and reveals her own passion for theatre. Finding herself in need of a wee, she gets up to go the loo.
“I’ll be back in a minute” she says. “Don’t go anywhere”.
Ten minutes pass, and, as Marielle makes her way back to table, she discovers that John is nowhere to be seen. Where has he gone, she ponders. Did he pop to the toilet himself? Has he done a runner?
“Excuse me” she gestures to the lady on the table next her. “I don’t suppose you happened to see where the guy sat with me went?”
“What guy?” The lady responded.
“You know - the guy I was drinking with” says Marielle, surprised. The lady looks confused.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t see anyone sat next to you” she says.
“What do you mean?” Marielle fires back. “You were sat there the whole time. How did you know not see him?”
Was Marielle going crazy? Was she or was she not just drinking with a guy called John?
Unsure of what to believe, she heads to the bar. “Pardon me” she says to the barman. “But, I was wondering if you could clarify for something for me. The guy I was just drinking with. The guy in the grey suit. Did he settled did our bill?” The barman looks on, bewildered.
“Madam, as I recall, it was only the one drink you ordered and you paid for it at the bar yourself.” He responds.
He adds: “At no point today have I see you sat with anyone. Not that I’ve been watching you”.
Marielle suddenly felt lightheaded, as if the ground had given way beneath her feet. John exists, she’s sure it, and yet her memory of him is abstract at best. Who is this mystery of a man with grace in his step and alcohol on his breath who entered her life for a brief minute and vanished the next?
The beauty of Mr Blank is even if you know he’s there, but you can never be quite sure of his presence.
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