Cigarette Fairy, Part 2

This fictional account contains adult language and sexual themes.  If such
language and themes offend you, please do not read further.  The persons and
events described in this work are purely fictional.  Any similarity to actual
persons or events is strictly coincidental.  Copyright 2003 by SSTORYMAN.
All rights reserved.  Permission is hereby granted to reproduce this story in
any form and for any purpose as long as this notice is reproduced and no
financial remuneration is received, directly or indirectly, by the person
reproducing or using it.

THE CIGARETTE FAIRY

2.	Who's the Culprit?

   Saturday night the Pattersons lingered at the dinner table after supper.
Taylor had no choice but to be there.  She couldn't use the car after being
grounded.  She had nowhere to go.  Candice practiced soccer that afternoon
and she, too was home for the evening.

   "I have something to say," Pamela began sternly, pushing her plate back.
"I was at the grocery store today.  I looked in my purse for my wallet.  What
do you think I found in the bottom of my purse?"

   Three blank stares returned to her.

   "This," she went on, displaying the disposable lighter.  "Along with a
cigarette!"

   No one said a word.

   "Somebody put a cigarette and this lighter in my purse," Pamela exploded.
"It isn't funny.  Taylor, after what happened yesterday is this your idea of
a joke?"

   "No, Mom," sputtered the 16 year old, caught completely off guard.  "Why
accuse me?  I don't mess around with your purse!"

   "Well someone did.  You, missy, are the prime suspect.  You were mad I
made you smoke that cigarette yesterday.  But I only did what any responsible
parent would do in that situation.  To take revenge by planting a cigarette
in my purse is the height of cruelty."

   "But Mom I didn't do it," Taylor whined.  "God, this is so unfair!"

   "Wait a minute, Pam," Mick interrupted.  "She's right.  Why assume she's
the guilty party?"

   "She's the only one with a motive," Pamela shot back.  "Unless you want to
admit that _you_ did it, Mick?"

   He laughed.  "Hell no, I didn't.  Why would I plant a cigarette in your
purse?  I know how you feel about the whole subject of smoking!"

   "Maybe because you didn't want me to quit in the first place.  Come on,
you know it's true, Mick.  You disagreed with what I did to Taylor yesterday.
You tried to defend her.  So maybe you want her to smoke, just like you
didn't want me to quit years ago?"

   Taylor gaped at her.  "Mom, what are you talking about?"  She turned to
her father.  "Dad, what does she mean you didn't want her to quit?"

   Mick hung his head and said nothing.  Pamela answered for him.  "Taylor,
it's none of your damn business.  Yours either, Candice," she added, glaring
at her other daughter.

   "Hey don't get mad at me," the 13 year old gulped.  "I didn't say a
thing."

   "Mom, what's going on?" Taylor repeated.  "What disagreement are you
talking about between you and Dad?"

   "Never mind.  I shouldn't bring up ancient history.  But look.  Someone
put a cigarette and lighter in my purse knowing I'd find 'em.  I don't know
if it was a subtle suggestion, an intentional temptation, or just a cruel
joke.  It doesn't matter.  I want you all to know it really pissed me off.
One of you is the culprit.  I do _not_ appreciate it!"

   With that Pamela stood up and stormed out.  Mick looked at his daughters
and grinned sheepishly.  "Well, girls, looks like the three of us will clear
the dishes by ourselves tonight."

   Candice offered a lame excuse about needing to go see Nina Caldwell and
split.  That left Mick and Taylor to clear the table and clean up.

   "So, Dad, what's Mom talking about?  What did she mean you didn't want her
to quit?  That was years ago.  It sounds like she thinks you planted the
cigarette in her purse to encourage her to smoke again."

   Mick nervously wiped his brow.  He carefully put a serving bowl in the
dishwasher.  "Honey, to be honest, it's not something I'm comfortable talking
about with you."

   "But Dad, Mom's accusing one of us of planting that cigarette in her
purse.  At first she thought I did it.  But then she switched and seemed to
accuse you.  Dad, we both need to come clean.  Openness and honesty are
important.  I didn't do it.  Did you?  And if you did, why?"

   Mick looked over his shoulder to make sure Pamela wasn't nearby.  She
wasn't.  "Honey, your mom let the cat out of the bag so I'm gonna explain
what happened seventeen years ago.  But don't you dare tell her I told you
any of this.  Agreed?"

   Taylor nodded.

   "Okay.  Here's what happened.  I met Mom in college as you know.  It was
our junior year.  I fell madly in love with her the second I met her.  She
was gorgeous; of course she still is," he added wistfully.  "But she smoked.
Actually I shouldn't say 'but.'  That's because one reason I was so attracted
to Pamela in the beginning was her smoking."

   Taylor cocked her head.  "God!  What do you mean?"

   Mick cleared his throat.  "This is hard for me to admit, honey.  Most
people think smoking's disgusting.  But I didn't.  I liked the fact that your
mom smoked.  I always did.  There was just something about how she did it, so
elegant, so mesmerizing ?."

   "Dad!  God, I don't believe it.  You liked it?"

   Mick nodded.  "Yeah, Taylor, I sure did.  It drove me crazy.  Of course
your mom smoked too much; a couple packs a day.  But I loved it.  She smoked
so much I had lots of opportunity to be driven crazy.  That's what she's
referring to.  After we got married and she got pregnant with you she told me
she was gonna quit.  I didn't object.  But after you were born I casually
asked when she'd start again.  I sort of wanted her to start smoking again.
Well, she hit the ceiling.  She was mad as hell.  You see, it was hard for
her to quit.  I guess she didn't want to face that agony a second time.  We
wanted more kids and she was pissed I wanted her to start smoking again
because it'd mean eventually she'd have to quit all over again.  She didn't
want that."  He paused.  "We never discuss smoking anymore.  But I'm sure
that's why she thinks I might plant a cigarette in her purse.  I didn't, but
that's why she thinks I might have."

   "But Dad, I don't understand.  Why did you _like_ Mom to smoke?"

   He blushed.  "It's hard to explain.  I guess you had to be there," he
smiled with no small embarrassment.  He didn't want to explain the depth of
his feelings about female smoking in general or about his wife's old habit in
particular.  "Let's just say Mom got mad at me because I wanted her to smoke
again.  She knows I wouldn't be upset if she ever decided to return to it."

   Taylor shook her head.  "Wow, this is weird.  Maybe I don't want to know
any more."

   "Yeah, honey, maybe you don't."

   "But Mom's on the warpath.  If you didn't do it, Dad, and I didn't, who's
left?  Candice?  I don't believe that twerp could or would.  What motive did
she have?"  She hesitated.  "God, you don't think Mom did it, do you?  Do you
think she's setting us up to be the heavies because secretly she wants to
smoke again?  Could that be it?"

   Mick shrugged.  "Honey, I don't know.  To be honest my advice is to walk
on tiptoes.  She's upset but maybe it'll blow over.  Experience tells me you
can't discuss smoking with your mom.  By the way, I'm sorry for what happened
to you yesterday.  Your mom sometimes goes overboard if smoking's involved.
I know she thought she was doing the right thing.  But I felt bad for you.  I
want you to know that."

   "Thanks, Dad," the teenager smiled.  She frowned.  "This is all too weird.
Someone around here isn't telling the truth.  Somebody planted that cigarette
in my jacket and then also put one in Mom's purse!"

   Later Taylor went to the Caldwells.  Candice and Nina were in Nina's room.
Instead of visiting Ashleigh, Taylor confronted her little sister.

   "Listen, twerp.  I just talked to Dad.  He swears he didn't do that to Mom
and I sure as hell didn't.  That leaves you.  If you're trying to be funny,
Candice, knock it off.  I'm taking the heat and I don't like it!"

   Candice was a miniature version of her slender blond older sister.  She
shrugged.  "I don't know what you're talking about.  I'm not the one who got
caught smoking yesterday.  Don't bullshit me.  You must've done it, Taylor.
You're the one with the motive."

   The older girl glared.  "I _didn't_ get caught smoking.  I've never
smoked.  At least I never did till Mom made me."

   Nina listened with interest.  "Hey, Taylor, I have a question.  I'm
serious.  How was it?  Smoking, I mean?  Don't get mad.  I'm just kinda
curious."

   Taylor couldn't be rude to Nina like she could to her sister.  "I told you
guys, Nina, I don't smoke."

   "No, I don't mean that.  I mean when your Mom made you.  Was it really so
bad?"

   Taylor sat down and sighed.  "I felt awful sick.  It was also
humiliating."

   "But the smoking itself, Taylor.  What was that like?"

   She looked at Nina.  "Why are you so curious?"

   "I just am," shrugged the thirteen year old.  "Was it really, really
terrible?"

   "No, it wasn't.  Feeling sick was terrible.  But the smoking itself?  It
wasn't as bad as I expected.  But it's hard to separate what it did to me
from what the smoking was really like."

   Nina nodded.  "I was just nosy.  So do you want to do it again?"

   "Smoke?  No.  Why would I?"

   Again the 13 year old shrugged.  "I don't know.  My parents smoke all the
time.  They don't seem to want to quit.  They told Ashleigh they don't care
if she wants to smoke."

   Taylor nodded.  "Your mom told me.  But that's not exactly it.  Your mom
said she doesn't want Ashleigh to smoke; she just won't forbid it if Ashleigh
wants to start."

   Nina nodded.  "Here's why I'm curious.  Something about smoking must be
really great.  Otherwise my parents wouldn't keep doing it even though it's
bad for 'em.  That's why I'm curious what _you_ thought, Taylor.  I wanted to
know if you'd do it again."  She giggled.  "Boy, _that'd_ piss your mom off!
Imagine how she'd feel if she turned you into a smoker by forcing you to
smoke your first cigarette!  Wow, that'd be too funny!"

   A light went on.  "Yeah Nina, you're right.  It _would_ be funny, wouldn't
it?"

   "Uh-oh.  What are thinking, Taylor?" Candice asked.  "You have that look.
You're thinking something!"

   Taylor ignored her little sister.  "Nina, you're smart," she smiled,
condescendingly patting the younger Caldwell girl on the head.  "I'm pissed
about what Mom did to me.  I've been looking for some way to get even.  She
thinks the cigarette in her purse was my doing but it's not."  She glared at
Candice.  "Despite your 'I'm innocent' shit, twerp, you might've done it to
get me in deeper trouble."  She shook her head.  "Anyway, Nina, what you
suggested might be the way to get revenge.  Maybe at some point I'll casually
mention to Mom that I've started smoking and that I never wanted to take it
up until she introduced me to it.  I'll tell her I don't think I ever want to
quit.  She'll feel so guilty.  God, it'll be great!"

   Candice rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, and you'll get grounded for the rest of
your life!"

   "So you'd start smoking just to get even with your mom?" Nina gasped in
disbelief.

   "Course not," Taylor laughed.  "But I can make Mom _think_ I do and think
that her punishing me made me want to smoke.  Hmm, I don't know.  I'll see."
She stared at Candice.  "Anyway, twerp, my driving privileges got suspended
for a week.  I'm afraid that ultimately Mom will blame me for the cigarette
that this cigarette fairy put in her purse.  So what do I have to lose?
Probably nothing.  Whatever I do I'll get blamed for everything.  I might
just think about doing it to get some retribution."

   What Taylor didn't realize was that the cigarette fairy, as she referred
to it, was about to get some help from a completely unexpected source.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   An uneasy truce remained in place in the Patterson household that weekend.
On Monday everyone but Candice went to work.  Pamela had an appointment with
a prospective client about an office lease.  Most of her real estate work
involved residential homes.  This was a female doctor looking to hire a
realtor to find her a new office for a growing psychiatric practice.  Pamela
was eager to get into the commercial real estate market and this could be her
big chance.

   Dr. Sheryl Richardson was an attractive psychiatrist in her early
thirties.  Pamela liked her immediately.  Sheryl was funny but at the same
time professional.  Pamela understood why this pleasant female psychiatrist
needed a larger office to accommodate her expanding practice.  But before
making a decision to hire Pamela, Sheryl asked if they could drive around
together to look at several potential office buildings.

   Pamela used her car to take clients out to look at properties.  Her
minivan was nice but not too fancy.  After all, no one wanted a realtor who
drove an overly expensive car paid for by all her hefty real estate
commissions!

   Sheryl Richardson opened the minivan's passenger door and got in.  As
Pamela started the engine Sheryl reached down and picked up something off the
floor.  It was a half empty pack of Marlboro Lights 100's!

   "Ah, Pamela, I see you smoke?"

   Pamela was aghast.  "Oh my God!  No!  How did that get there?"

   Sheryl laughed.  "Don't apologize, Pamela.  It doesn't bother me if you do
smoke."

   "But I don't," Pamela desperately replied.  "I really don't!"  She was
horrified this prospective client thought she was a smoker.  Sheryl hadn't
retained her yet and Pamela feared this could kill her chances!  "Uh, those
must be my daughter's," she lamely added, frantically looking for a plausible
explanation to explain her prospective client's incredible discovery.

   Sheryl laughed.  "Come on, Pam.  That's the oldest and lamest excuse in
the book!  I'm not buying.  First, you're not old enough to have a daughter
that smokes.  Second, I told you I don't mind.  Not at all.  In fact, do you
want the truth?  I'm absolutely delighted that you smoke.  You see, I do,
too.  Yeah, believe it or not, I'm a smoker.  And God, I must say it'd be
great having a realtor who smokes so I won't have to abstain when I'm around
her."

   Pamela gasped.  "You smoke, Sheryl?  But you're a doctor ??"

   "Yeah, but I'm a psychiatrist, not a heart surgeon," she laughed.  She
brushed her blond hair off her face.  "I smoked back when I was a nurse
before I went to medical school.  God, did I ever!  Recently I finally
started up again.  Damn, I sure missed it, too.  Actually, that's one of the
reasons why I need a bigger office.  My practice is growing by leaps and
bounds and I do want a nicer office in a better location.  But frankly I also
want a place where I can dedicate a backroom as a smoking room."  She
grinned.  "It kills me that my assistant and I can't easily sneak out for
smoke breaks where we are now."

   Pamela was speechless.  Dr. Sheryl Richardson was a successful
psychiatrist.  It never occurred to her that she smoked.  She didn't _look_
like a smoker.  Pamela didn't know what to say.  "Well, I'm sure I can help
you find what you're looking for," she mumbled.

   "Great," Sheryl sighed happily.  "That settles it then.  I liked you
anyway, Pam.  You seem level headed.  But now that I know you smoke, too,
well, I'd definitely prefer working with you instead of some other real
estate broker.  We smokers have to hang together, you know."

   Pamela gulped and nodded.  She was stuck.  She didn't want to lose the
chance to have Sheryl as a client.  Maybe she could just play along and let
Sheryl keep assuming she was a smoker.  "Well then, that's great, Sheryl,"
she smiled weakly.  "I have a couple properties to show you this morning.  I
suspect you'll be very happy with one of them."

   Sheryl nodded.  "That sounds great, Pam.  Listen, do you mind terribly if
I have a cigarette right now?  I'd really like one.  You know?"

   Pamela gulped again.  "Uh, I usually don't smoke in my car," she fibbed.
"You know, I have to drive clients around.  I don't want to alienate anyone
with the smell."

   "Ah, yes, I understand," Sheryl agreed.  "Fine.  But after we see the
properties we definitely need to find a restaurant or café where can sit down
and smoke together while we talk about what I'm going to do.  Yeah, this will
work out great for me, Pam.  I'm so pleased!"

   "Yeah, me, too," Pamela nodded apprehensively.  "It's wonderful."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Taylor left the Gap at eleven.  She was scheduled for an early lunch.  She
walked to the food court inside the mall to decide what she wanted to eat.

   The restaurants weren't busy.  It was too early.  Beside her was Bonnie,
another sales clerk taking an early lunch.  Bonnie was an 18 year old
brunette, pretty and a couple inches shorter than the taller Taylor.  She
didn't know Bonnie well but it didn't matter.  Mostly she was someone to eat
with.

   They settled on a hamburger place.  Taylor opened her purse to pay for
lunch.  She saw it.  Beneath her wallet, in the bottom of her purse, were two
cigarettes and a disposable lighter!

   "I didn't know you smoked, Taylor," Bonnie grinned as Taylor stared at her
unexpected find.  "God, that's great.  We can sit outside and smoke together
after we eat!"

   Taylor gasped.  "Shit.  I don't believe it.  It's happened again!"

   Bonnie headed toward one of the food court tables.  "What happened?"

   "I don't believe it," she groaned.  "Everyone at our house is being
attacked by cigarette fairies."  And she told Bonnie all about the peculiar
events of the last several days.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Sheryl and Pamela left the second office complex on the north end of town.

   "Not bad," the psychiatrist nodded.  "Not bad at all, Pam.  But I'm not
sure either of them is what I'm looking for.  Maybe we can stop for a bite to
eat and talk about it?"

   "Fine," Pamela smiled nervously.  She was glad some chemistry was
developing with Dr. Richardson.  They clearly hit it off and there was no
hint of Sheryl talking to another realtor.  Pamela felt she had the client,
assuming she found something Sheryl liked well enough to sign a lease.

   They pulled in the parking lot of a popular chain restaurant.  "Oh no,"
Sheryl exclaimed.  "Not here.  It's all non-smoking.  This place doesn't have
a smoking section."  She smiled at her realtor.  "We need to go somewhere we
can smoke.  Right?"

   "Oh, yeah, right," Pamela nodded.  "Of course."  She turned around and
headed toward a bar and grille in the same mall complex.  She was pretty sure
it had a smoking section.

   Sheryl got out of the car and grabbed the half empty pack of Marlboro
Lights 100's she found earlier on the floor.  "Don't worry, Pam, I have
yours," she quipped.  "I'll bring 'em with me."

   "Thanks, Sheryl.  You're a dear."

   They walked into the bar and grille.  A large smoking section was located
to the left of the hostess stand.  Sheryl smiled at the young greeter and
announced, "Two for smoking!"

   Pamela didn't know what to do.  Sheryl believed she smoked and that belief
was a key factor in her decision to use her.  Now she simply assumed the two
of them would smoke together and share some girl talk over lunch.  This was
the moment of decision.  Pamela quickly had to decide how to handle the
sticky mess she found herself in.

   They settled in at a table as the waitress took drink orders.  Sheryl
ordered a Bud Light.  Pamela asked for iced tea and Sheryl cut in.  "Honey,
ignore that.  Bring my girlfriend a Bud Light."  She smiled at Pamela.  "I'm
off work today, Pam, and I need a beer.  So if I drink you have to, too.
Chalk it up to client development.  Okay?"

   Pamela smiled politely.  "Yeah, sure.  Bud Light's fine for me."

   Sheryl pulled a leather cigarette pouch from her purse and set it on the
table next to what was supposedly Pamela's pack of Marlboro Lights 100's.
"First I gotta pee," she giggled impishly.  "I'll be back.  Don't wait for
me.  Go ahead and light up without me if you need to."  She headed off to the
ladies room.

   Pamela picked up Sheryl's leather cigarette pouch to examine it.  It was
an elegant accouterment; the leather covering the case was expensive.  The
lighter inside the side pouch was classy and monogrammed.  She sighed.  In
the old days she had one like it, she remembered.  Her leather cigarette case
was navy blue, though, and it ?.

   "I'm back," Sheryl interrupted, sitting down again.  "You can have one of
my cigarettes if you prefer," she smiled graciously.  "I don't mind."

   "No thanks, I was just admiring your case," Pamela said.  She uneasily
handed it back across the table.  "It's a nice one.  Reminds me of one I had
a long time ago."

   Sheryl nodded and opened her pouch.  With long, supple fingers she slowly
withdrew an all white, 100 millimeter cigarette, a full flavored Benson &
Hedges 100.  She giggled.  "I don't know about you, Pamela, but I'm really
ready to smoke.  God, it's so nice to deal with another professional woman
who totally understands that common need we have.  Don't you think?"

   Pamela nodded solemnly.  She desperately wanted this client.  She needed
Sheryl Richardson's business.  She had no choice but to join her and do
something she hadn't done in ages, something she swore she'd never do again.
Under her breath she cursed her daughter or husband or whoever the hell put
the half empty pack of Marlboro Lights 100's in her car.  But she still had
to do it.  If she wanted Sheryl as a client she had to at least pretend to
smoke!

   Trying to act nonchalant she smiled and picked up the Marlboro Lights
100's.  She shook one out.  Her hands trembled slightly.  She inserted the
long white cigarette into her lips.  She hoped her nervousness wasn't too
apparent.  She nodded casually.  "Hey, Sheryl, can I use your lighter?  I'm
not sure what happened to mine."

   "Oh yeah, sure," Sheryl smiled.  She passed Pamela hers.  "No problem."

   Pamela looked over her client's lighter.  It was a damned expensive little
device!  The lighter was small, made of fourteen carat gold with her initials
inscribed on the side.  Pamela clicked it.  A small flame erupted.  Slowly
she guided it toward the unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.  Contact!

   She felt smoke in her mouth.  It didn't feel that strange.  Back when she
was younger she executed that exact exercise a million times.  Her cheeks
collapsed out of habit and she self-consciously smiled at her companion.
Without thinking she sucked smoke down into her lungs.

   The feeling was overwhelming.  After not smoking for 17 years the smoke
felt incredibly potent down inside her chest.  But Pamela intentionally
played it totally cool.  She casually passed the gold lighter back to Sheryl,
pursed her lips with a sly smile, and directed a thin plume of exhaled smoke
toward the ceiling.

   Sheryl nodded approvingly, clearly admiring her realtor's adept smoking
style.  "God, nicotine is amazing, isn't it, Pamela?  It always hits the
spot, doesn't it?"

   Pamela tapped a non-existent ash in the table ashtray.  She was nervous.
She held her cigarette by her head.  Smoke wafted directly into her face.
She kept smiling.  "Oh yeah, Sheryl, absolutely," she confidently answered.
"It sure does hit the spot!"

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