Spices Make Nice

         Marianne Durpress was straightening her hair when there was a knock at her door. She put her straightening iron down on the counter and went to what was the matter. Before she could open the door herself, the door was flung open and Mr. Wolf was inside her apartment.
         Mr. Wolf was dressed in a black suit and was holding a briefcase. Marianne frowned in distaste when she saw Mr. Wolf, but it was just a flicker, and soon enough a bright smile was on her face.
         “What is it, sir?”
         “What is it?” he yelled, “Ms. Durpress, the biggest meeting of your career is in fifteen minutes and you’re not even done in the bathroom? You’re the French ambassador for God’s sake; you ought to be more professional than this. We need the Americans to side with us today so you better be perfect!”
         “I was just finishing up, sir, and I’ll be right out. I aim to be perfect.” she said, trying to maintain a smile.
         “That's the spirit,” Mr. Wolf said lamely. He sighed and went out, slamming the door as he left. Marianne rolled her eyes after he had gone. Then she ran to the bathroom and finished straightening her hair, threw her heels on and was out the door.

         As Marianne was rushing through the French Embassy in Washington D.C., her thoughts were on her ingenious plan to ensure that today’s meeting was a success. With the help of Francois, the embassy’s repairman, they had set up potpourri centerpieces on the table which were incredibly fragrant with the smell of cinnamon.
         “Why are we doing this,” Francois had asked.
         “I read on a women’s magazine that that the smell of cinnamon calms people down and removes tension. Hopefully the meeting tomorrow with Belgium and America will go swiftly with the cinnamon.”
         “I don’t know if that will work.”
         “Probably not, because Mr. Wolf will probably hate the idea and destroy them.”
         “Not what I meant, but probably still likely.”
         Marianne stopped at the break room and picked up a freshly baked cinnamon covered donut and a cup of coffee and proceeded to the meeting room. At the door, Marianne was shoving the rest of the donut into her mouth in a very unladylike manner and washing the rest down with the coffee (it must have been sitting out for a while because it was only lukewarm).
         She entered the meeting room and sat next to Mr. Wolf. Next to them were the people from the U.S. and across the table was the Belgian ambassador, Margot De Vos, and another man that Marianne did not know.
         The centerpieces on the table were striking. They were a bit inconvenient because they took up a large amount of space and it was hard to see around them but they were aromatic and did the job (hopefully, Marianne thought to herself). The centerpieces were composed of large lavender bushels in a glass vase which was filled with cinnamon sticks. The cinnamon combined with the scent of the flowers and made the room smell very French, if that is a thing.
         They stood, sang the American anthem and everyone sat down.
         Marianne noticed Mr. Wolf was looking at the vases on the table in disgust.
         “Who put these atrocious things on the table?” No one answered so Mr. Wolf stood and began to move the vases.
         “Wait!” Marianne screeched, “those are supposed to be there.”
         “So you put them there; I should have known.” He had now began to walk off with the vase.
         “Can you at least leave them in here,” Marianne pleaded.
         “If you're this adamant, I guess.”
         Mr. Wolf placed the two centerpieces on a table off to the side of the room. From there, Marianne couldn’t even smell them.
         “Now, to business,” Mr. Wolf continued.
         Marianne stood.
         “Yes, hello. I am Marianne Durpress, the French ambassador to America. France has recently been quite angered to hear about the recent border disputes between France and Belgium as you probably know.” The Belgians simply nodded. “Yes, so because of what is happening we cut off diplomatic ties with your country. You know this, correct?”
         “Yes, we do.”
         “That’s great, but your treatment to our country is disturbing, in fact. The French republic is nervous about these implications and we are now stressing America to do the same.”
         The man to Marianne’s left was standing now.
         “Good day. My name is Peter Foster, and I run the Office for Foreign Affairs for the United States of America. What Marianne and her staff have told me is really quite appalling and we are scared to think that such a neutral country as yourself would be doing these things. Nevertheless, we try not to be overly involved so it best if we stay working with -”
         Peter was cut off because Francois was now in the room carrying a large upright fan. He gave everyone a slight smile and a nod of the head.
         “My supervisor said that you might be hot so I’m bringing you a fan.” Francois plugged in the fan and the air began to blow in the direction of the table. Suddenly there was a faint smell of lavender and cinnamon and in the next seconds the room was fragrant with the scent.
         Peter looked taken aback with the smell.
         “No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I was wrong before. We can’t trust a country like you. We too are cutting off diplomatic ties with the country of Belgium. It’s just not right what you’re doing. That is all I have to say on the matter.”
         Belgium looked angry and surprised. They said nothing more and packed up their things and left.
         Marianne turned to Mr. Wolf and smiled. He frowned.
         “Everything went perfectly!” Marianne exclaimed.
         “As expected,” Mr. Wolf said.
         One way or another, Marianne’s cinnamon method had worked.