Relationships of Convenience, Part 4

    This story contains adult language and themes. If such language and themes
offend you, please do not read further. Copyright 1998 by SSTORYMAN. All
rights reserved. Permission is 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
it.

    RELATIONSHIPS OF CONVENIENCE

    Part 4

    The next morning Aimee stumbled downstairs. Brandi sat at the breakfast
table, wearing one of her skimpy nightgowns. Aimee felt irritated, at least
partly because her body was already crying out for more nicotine.

    "What on earth were you doing with George McDermott last night?"

    "And good morning to you, too," Brandi said sardonically. "I ran into
George while he was walking his dog," she added. "He invited me over for a
drink. That's all that happened."

    "Don't you think he's a bit old for you?" Aimee asked disapprovingly.

    "No, I don't," Brandi curtly replied. "If you can fuck that loser Bill, I
guess I can hang out with George. He's only thirty, for God's sake. And he's a
real gentleman."

    "I'm not fucking Bill anymore," Aimee shot back.

    "Yeah, but you will. I heard the message he left on the answering machine,
begging you to take him back. I know how desperate you are. You'll do it."

    "How did you know Bill called?" Aimee asked. "When I listened to the
message, it hadn't been saved."

    Brandi turned pale. "I was still here," she mumbled. "I heard the message
when he called," she added, trying to concoct a plausible story.

    "Why didn't you just answer the phone? Why did it roll over to the
machine?"

    "Um, I was in the bathroom. With the door open. That's how I heard it."

    "Did you hear the entire message? Aimee asked. She couldn't remember
whether Bill mentioned smoking. "Do you remember it?" There was a strange
urgency in her voice.

    "Yeah," Brandi said, playing it cool. "He was sorry how he treated you. He
said he'd do anything to get you back." She smiled sweetly. "And you'll
probably take him back, too."

    "I might," Aimee sighed, relieved that Brandi hadn't heard anything more
specific. "But if I do, it will be on my terms."

    Aimee poured a cup of coffee. Brandi had already made a pot, which was
unusual since Brandi rarely drank coffee in the morning. Aimee didn't know
Brandi had wanted nicotine, but settled for the caffeine in the coffee as a
poor substitute.

    "So, tell me about George. Did you and he have a nice time?"

    "We didn't fuck, if that's what you're asking," Brandi said dryly.

    "I didn't suggest you did."

    "You implied it," she answered. "But he's nice, and he seems interested.
The other night you said I should get out. Well, George is a start." She
smiled. Time for the lie. "In fact, we're having lunch today."

    Aimee smiled back. "I'm going out to lunch, too," she said smugly.

    Brandi gave her sister a hard stare. "I don't know why you're pissed," she
retaliated. "I didn't do anything to you. Don't be such a bitch!"

    Aimee rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so jumpy," she
lied. But she knew exactly why. Nothing was wrong that one or two cigarettes
wouldn't fix. But Aimee went on. "Maybe I'm upset about Bill. I'm sorry.
You're right. I'm sure George is wonderful. He's older, but he's good looking.
You should get together with him if you want." She paused for a sip of coffee.
"I think I'll go shopping. Maybe that will cheer me up."

    "Good idea," Brandi replied. She finished her own coffee and stood. "I'll
stick around here until lunch."

    Brandi waited for Aimee to shower and dress. She wanted to step outside
again. She desperately wanted a smoke. But until Aimee left, she could only
wait helplessly.

    In fact, nothing had happened with George last night. That was true. They
just talked and watched TV together until midnight; and of course, they
smoked. By the time she left, she'd smoked five more Salems. True to his word,
George smoked with her, matching her consumption cigarette for cigarette. Her
pack of Salems was now nearly empty. She'd forgotten how fast a pack goes when
you share cigarettes. Luckily, she'd bought a carton. She was glad. She had a
feeling she'd go through the remaining nine packs pretty quickly.

    Brandi smiled. George seemed to enjoy her company, and smoking with her,
too. He just seemed to enjoy smoking, period. She didn't understand why he
wasn't hooked. It had only been one day since she'd started again, and she was
already out of her mind. All she could think about was her next cigarette! But
Aimee was leaving. There would be relief soon enough!

    She still couldn't decide what to tell Aimee. Her sister said she didn't
like the smell of smoke. Too bad she withdrew her "stupid" idea suggesting
that Brandi smoke. Oh, if she only knew, Brandi sighed. But how could she
break the news? To say it another way, how could she _not_ break the news?
Eventually she'd have to. She couldn't keep sneaking. Sooner or later, Aimee
would find out. It would be worse if she found out by accident.

    George had agreed to keep quiet about her smoking. She smiled as she
thought about him. She wasn't really having lunch with George. He was at work.
But she wished she were. He was nice. She'd needed an excuse to escape the
house today. Saying she was having lunch with George was the best excuse she
could think of. Her real intention was to call Bette and see if they could get
together. She could smoke with Bette.

    By the time Aimee finished her shower, Brandi had dressed in the same
tee-shirt and shorts she wore to George's the night before. She wore them
because they already smelled of cigarette smoke. If Aimee asked, she could say
the smell came from her evening at George's.

    Aimee descended the steps wearing a tank top and shorts of her own. Today
would be another scorcher. It was already warm. "I hope you won't need the
car," Aimee smiled. "Will George give you a ride to lunch?"

    "Uh, sure," Brandi nodded. "Go ahead and take the car."

    From the living room window, Brandi watched their blue Honda Accord pull
away from the townhouse parking area. When she was out of sight, she retrieved
her purse. With contents firmly in hand, she ran to the back door, opened it,
and stepped into the warm morning sun.

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

    Aimee didn't know where she was going. But she wasn't going shopping. You
can't smoke in malls. Stupid non-smoking regulations! But she'd find somewhere
to light up. She didn't want to sit in a restaurant all morning. But what
other options were there? She thought about parking the car at the mall,
opening the window and smoking. But she knew the smell of stale smoke would
linger. That would not be good.

    Something strange was going on with Brandi. She couldn't be having lunch
with George McDermott. His parking space in the townhouse lot was empty, and
presumably he was at work, as he always was on Saturdays. Like most young
accountants, George worked in his office on Saturdays. If he were really
taking Brandi to lunch, he'd have to drive back. That didn't make sense. He
almost never came home before late afternoon on Saturdays. Aimee didn't
believe Brandi's lame story. But if she wasn't fucking George, then what _was_
she doing?

    Aimee turned her attention to more important matters. By now her hands
were trembling on the steering wheel. She'd waited long enough. She needed to
smoke as soon as possible! As she passed a public park, she decided to pull
in. She pulled the car into a parking space and saw miscellaneous joggers,
dog-walkers, mothers with young children and the like milling about, enjoying
the early morning sun. No one would pay attention a young woman who stopped by
the park for a cigarette or two on a beautiful Saturday morning. There was a
park bench near the parking lot. That would be the spot!

    Aimee tried to appear nonchalant as she sauntered to the park bench. There
was no one within fifty yards of this bench. Good! She quickly retrieved her
cigarettes and lighter. Her anticipation was building! She sat on the bench
and tried to light up, but couldn't because of the breeze. Like the night
before, the lighter didn't cooperate in the wind. She tried and tried, but
couldn't get her cigarette lit. "Fuck!" she muttered with disgust. "Fuck,
fuck, fuck!" She looked around. "I'll light up in the car," she decided. "Then
I'll walk back to the bench and smoke out here."

    She returned to her car, unlocked and opened the door, and sat in the
driver's seat after closing the door. The sun was bright. It was warm and
still in the car. Aimee put the cigarette in her mouth. She flicked the
lighter. Away from the breeze, she got an even light. Thick, rich smoke began
filling her mouth. Greedily she inhaled, arching her back and expanding her
chest to receive the welcome smoke. It felt so good! She moaned with pleasure
as nicotine reached her lungs and began its magic. "God, yes," she sighed.
Before exhaling, she took a second, longer drag. It filled her body with
delight, and her pussy felt wet. Reluctantly she exhaled smoke from her
nostrils. "Thank you, God," she whispered.

    Suddenly, Aimee remembered the car door was closed. She was smoking inside
the car. "Shit," she exclaimed. She opened the door and stepped out. "God, I
can't smoke in there," she muttered. She left the door open and took another
long puff from her cigarette. She felt her nerves settle down. God bless
nicotine! "Brandi won't be able to smell anything," she comforted herself as
she exhaled away from the open door. "I didn't smoke that long inside."

    After locking the door, Aimee slowly wandered back to the bench, enjoying
the cigarette and the morning air. The joggers, dog-walkers and others in the
park moved about around her, oblivious to her smoking.

    She noticed a group of four young girls walking together and headed in her
direction. They were laughing and talking. She watched their approach with
interest. There appeared to be smoking. Judging from their appearances, Aimee
guessed none was older than sixteen.

    In the old days, Aimee was adamantly opposed to teenage smoking. But her
self-righteousness disappeared with the advent of her own discovery of the joy
of smoking. She looked at the cigarette between her own fingers and smiled.
Today she felt only sympathy for the plight of these poor girls, undoubtedly
hooked on cigarettes but unable to smoke elsewhere. Why else would four
teenage girls be romping in a public park on a Saturday morning?

    As they passed, one of the girls called out. "Hi," she giggled, cigarette
in hand. The others laughed. Aimee waved back, displaying her own cigarette.

    "Nice morning, isn't it?" Aimee called out politely.

    Obviously embarrassed, the girls continued to giggle. The leader yelled
back, a red head with a nice figure for a fifteen year old. "It's a great
morning if you're smoking," she shouted.

    Aimee smiled. "I agree." She put her cigarette to her lips and took a
drag. Tipping her head back, she released a plume of smoke into the breeze.

    Encouraged by the brief interchange, the girls came closer. Aimee felt
sure they were no older than 16. Three of them were smoking, and all four were
cute as buttons; two brunettes, a blond and the red head.

    One of the brunettes stopped and stared at Aimee. "Hey," she said. "Don't
I know you?"

    Aimee looked at this teenage smoker. She was pretty, but completely
unfamiliar. "I don't think so," she replied cautiously.

    "Yes, I _do_ know you," came the reply. "You're Aimee Johnston!"

    Aimee's mind raced. Who was this girl? How did she know her?

    "Yes, that's my name," Aimee answered cautiously. "But who are you?"

    "I'm Heather Sargent," the young girl answered. "Remember? Your mom and my
mom were friends. You and your sister used to baby-sit for my older brother
and me."

    "She was your baby-sitter?" one of the other girls mocked.

    "Shut up," Heather countered sharply to her friend. "She _was_ my
baby-sitter. Aimee, don't you remember me?" the girl replied as she walked
closer.

    Aimee stared at her. This girl with a cigarette in her hand was less than
ten feet away. She looked familiar. Could it possibly be É?

    "Heather? Heather Sargent? God, I haven't seen you for years. You were
just a kid when I last saw you. You've grown up!"

    Heather smiled and arched her back, showing off her young breasts to
provide evidence of her maturity. "Well, I'm 15 now," she acknowledged. "The
last time you baby-sat for me, I was 12. I'm not surprised you don't recognize
me. But Aimee, you look the same. I always admired you! You were so grown up,
so pretty, and so sophisticated." She paused. "You still are. And you smoke,
too."

    Aimee blushed. "Thanks," she stammered. "Actually, I just sort of started
smoking. But Heather, aren't you a little _young_ to smoke?"

    Heather's friends joined the chorus, poking and giving her grief. "Yeah,
Heather, aren't you underage?" "Maybe we should tell your mother," and "Way to
go, Heather."

    "My mom doesn't care," Heather explained calmly, ignoring the ribbing from
her friends. "She lets me smoke."

    Aimee was shocked. Of course, she knew Judy Sargent smoked back when she
and her mom were friends. But Aimee was still amazed Judy would let Heather
smoke. "But you're only fifteen years old," she sputtered.

    "So?" Heather answered. "Mom smokes. So does Mark, my older brother. There
was no way Mom could stop me. Actually, I've been smoking since I was twelve,"
she said proudly.

    For a split second Aimee was tempted to express disapproval. But then she
took a long pull on her cigarette. The enjoyable sensation of having smoke in
her lungs reminded her that age was certainly no barrier when it came to
enjoying smoking - or to getting hooked.

    "Wow," she gasped, stopping to exhale. She looked at the four girls. "Have
all of you have been smoking that long?"

    "No," Heather giggled. "Of course not. Let me introduce you to my friends.
Aimee Johnston, this is my friend Hope Cummings," she said, pointing to the
red head holding a cigarette. "Hope has been smoking for about nine months.
And this is my other friend Beth Crawford," she went on, pointing to the
brunette also holding a cigarette. "She's been smoking for just over a year.
We're all in high school together." She giggled. "We're freshmen. But we're
lucky. All three of us have parents who let us smoke at home."

    This surprised Aimee even more. "Really? Then why are you here? I figured
you were smoking in the park because you couldn't smoke at home."

    "That's not it," Hope interrupted, entering the conversation. "We're here
for another reason." She pointed to the fourth girl standing shyly in the
back, trying to look inconspicuous. "This is Cheryl Cook. We came to the park
because she's going to learn to smoke this morning," Hope added proudly.

    Cheryl blushed. She was a pretty little blond girl, obviously embarrassed
by the sudden attention. She said nothing, but nodded, smiled and looked at
the ground.

    "Cheryl wants to learn to smoke," the brunette named Beth chimed in.
"She's been curious for awhile. My parents are pretty cool about me smoking,
but they probably wouldn't approve of me teaching Cheryl at my house. You
know, like doing it at one of our houses would make them accomplices or
something? So we're having our first lesson in the park. My parents won't care
if Cheryl smokes, but they might freak if they knew I was teaching her."

    All of the girls except Cheryl smoked confidently. Cheryl, on the other
hand, looked self-conscious. She was also the only one not holding a
cigarette.

    Cheryl spoke in a squeaky voice. "My parents don't smoke. They wouldn't
approve. But I really want to try it. I'm tired of hanging out with these guys
and feeling left out because I don't smoke." She giggled. "I know they really
like it. I'm sure I will, too."

    "Don't worry," Aimee nodded, speaking confidently. "You'll like it." She
took a last puff from her cigarette and dropped it to the ground." I can't
believe how fast I got sucked in. Now all I want to do is smoke."

    Heather nodded and took a long drag. "It's great, isn't it?" she asked
rhetorically as she exhaled. "How long have you been smoking, Aimee?" You
didn't smoke when you baby-sat for Mark and me, did you?"

    "No," Aimee grinned. "Actually, I just started."

    "No shit?" Beth grinned.

    All four girls had quickly warmed up. They slowly approached Aimee's park
bench and now stood within a few feet . "Don't you think smoking is great?"
Hope added.

    "Yeah, I like it," Aimee admitted. "But Cheryl, make sure you know what
you're getting into. You can't just pick it up whenever you feel like it. I'm
hooked, and I've only been smoking for É for a short while," she added, too
embarrassed to admit she started less than twenty four hours ago.

    "Don't worry," Cheryl smiled. "I know. In fact, that's why I'm excited. I
like the idea of loving something so much that you can't live without it. I
know smoking is bad for you, but I want to try it. It must be great."

    "Don't let me stop you," Aimee said, surprising herself with openness to
something which only two days earlier would have been anathema. "Good luck,"
she added.

    She watched the four girls trudge off to a more secluded area. God, she
was amazed to see little Heather Sargent smoking a cigarette! It was weird!
She was also astounded that Judy Sargent let Heather smoke. But in some ways
she wasn't surprised. After all, Judy always smoked like a chimney. How could
she say no to her kids? She probably couldn't. Even so, it was a bit
disconcerting to actually see Heather - to whom she used to read bedtime
stories - smoking. A gnawing feeling of discomfort began growing. It called
for relief. Aimee sighed. She already knew what was required. She wanted
another cigarette.

    She looked at the cigarette butt on the ground. She wanted another one.
But she couldn't. It was too breezy. In a panic, she looked at her car. Could
she É.? No, she couldn't smoke in there again! Too dangerous. She turned and
saw the teenagers walking into the trees less than fifty yards away. Without
thinking, she called out.

    "Heather?"

    Heather turned. "Yeah?" she replied.

    Aimee started jogging toward them. "Hang on," she called. "If it's okay,
I'm coming with you. I need help learning to use my cigarette lighter in the
wind."

    Heather laughed. "Is that okay, guys?" she asked. There were approving
nods all around. "Then come on, Aimee," she yelled back. "You can help us
teach Cheryl, too."

    "I'd love that," Aimee gasped, reaching the four teenagers. Surprised at
herself, she smiled at her young friends. "For some reason, I'd really love
to." And the five of them walked into a grove of trees which hid them from
sight.

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

    Brandi walked into the cafŽ just after one o'clock. As it turned out,
Bette couldn't pick her up, so instead Brandi walked to the cafŽ where Bette
was eating lunch. It was near the campus, and took Brandi forty five minutes
to walk from her apartment.

    But Brandi didn't mind. She wanted to smoke _with_ someone. This morning
she smoked four cigarettes by herself on the back stoop. But smoking alone was
boring. She preferred smoking in a group. Or at least, with one other smoker.

    Bette had suggested they meet at a little cafŽ near campus. During the
walk, Bette had smoked two more cigarettes. She didn't mind the walk. It was
enjoyable to walk and smoke.

    Brandi was happy for another reason. Her blood sugar this morning was only
130. That was lower than usual, almost normal. She did another blood test
before leaving the house. It registered 121. Another good one.

    The reason for the improvement was no junk food. Last night she ate
nothing sweet or fatty, even though George had chips and dip. Instead, she
smoked. This morning she ate nothing after breakfast. Instead of snacking,
again she smoked. The results were clear. Aimee had been right. Smoking would
help control Brandi's eating and, indirectly, improve her diabetes care.

    Brandi felt better physically when her blood sugar was close to normal.
Part of the morning's feeling of well-being did come from the reintroduction
of nicotine into her system. But some of it also resulted from her blood sugar
being under control. She felt good.

    "Brandi," came a call from a table in the smoking area of the cafe. "We're
over here."

    Bette was waiting. Another student sat with her at her table, a tall young
man with brown hair and a deep tan. Both he and Bette were smoking and
drinking coffee, with notebooks spread on the table. They were studying
together. "Good looking guy," Brandi mused.

    "Brandi, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine from the University. Brandi
Johnston, this is Mark Sargent."

    "Oh my God," Brandi gasped. "Mark Sargent?"

    Mark smiled. "Yes. It's been awhile, hasn't it, Brandi?"

    "My God!" Bette exclaimed "You know each other?"

    "Yes," Brandi answered, seating herself. "Mark's mom and my mom were
friends when we were younger. Mark, you've changed. You were a shrimp in those
days."

    "You're right. I'm a lot taller," Mark grinned, as he closed his notebook.
"It's been several years since I've seen you, Brandi. I'm 19, and a freshman
at the University now. Bette and I are in a couple classes together. Because
we both smoke, we often study together. She's become my unofficial mentor," he
said, giving Bette a grin.

    "Wow! Bette and I were good friends in high school," Brandi shook her
head. "It's a small world, isn't it?"

    Brandi turned to Bette to give some background. "Mark is two years younger
than me," she said. "His little sister Heather is about five years younger
than I am. For several years his mother brought Mark and his little sister to
our house when she and my mom went out. That was a long time ago," she sighed.
"My older sister Aimee baby-sat." She smiled. "You and I were both younger
then."

    "I had a big crush on you in those days, Brandi," Mark smiled. "When I was
thirteen, I used to dream about you. You were older and out of my league, but
I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen."

    "Prettier than me?" interjected Bette, pretending to be offended.

    Mark ignored Bette's remark. "Brandi, you're as pretty as ever. But your
hair is shorter than it was in those days, isn't it?"

    "Thanks for the complement, Mark," Brandi blushed. "Yes, I got my hair cut
and permed recently. I was tired of looking like my older sister."

    Bette interrupted. "Mark, were you in high school with us?"

    "No. Heather's in public school, but I went to catholic school," Mark
explained. "We knew the Johnston family because my mom and Brandi's mother
were friends." He paused. "I'm so sorry about your mom's death, Brandi."

    "Thanks," Brandi said quietly. "How's your mother?" she said, changing the
subject "Gosh, I haven't seen your mom since my mom's funeral. Aimee and I
loved your mom. We always thought she was so cool!"

    "Mom's fine," Mark replied. "She finally got married again. After being
divorced from my dad for so many years, she decided to get hitched. She's
doing great."

    Because Mark and Bette were both smoking, Brandi took the pack of Salem
Light 100's from her purse. She felt slightly self-conscious, but laid the
pack on the table and put a cigarette in her mouth. Before she could ignite
her lighter, Mark leaned over and lit her up.

    "Thank you, Mark," Brandi said, exhaling a small cloud of smoke. "You're a
gentleman. I see you followed in your mother's footsteps as a smoker."

    "Yep," he replied, as Brandi took a second, longer pull and inhaled. "It
was inevitable, I guess. Mom used to say that smoking saved her life. Do you
know the story?"

    "Yes," Brandi nodded. She tipped her head back and released a long stream
of milky white smoke into the air above their heads. "The way I heard it, your
mom quit drinking one day and started smoking like a chimney the next. I guess
she was an alcoholic in her prior life, before my mom knew her."

    "There's no doubt Mom was an alcoholic, although Heather and I were too
young to understand what the problem was. When I was eleven Mom quit drinking.
Then she started smoking as a defense mechanism after attending AA. Almost
overnight Mom turned from a non-smoker into a two pack a day gal. Heather and
I were amazed. Mom smoked constantly. At first Heather and I didn't like it.
But the longer she smoked, we got used to it. I was curious, so eventually I
tried it. When I was thirteen, I started sneaking her cigarettes."

    A dense cloud of smoke hung over the table. Brandi didn't mind. She felt
good being part of a smoking group. She took another puff. It felt good in her
lungs. "That was when you and Heather used to come to our house. You were
smoking back then?"

    "Yeah," agreed Mark. "But in those days I didn't smoke much. At that time
I just stole one or two cigarettes a day from Mom's pack."

    Mark paused to light another cigarette. He smoked Merit 100's. "But as you
know, smoking grows on you. The more you smoke, the more you want to smoke. By
the time I was fifteen I was doing three packs a week. That's when Mom figured
out what was happening. Mom smokes a lot, but even she realized her supply was
dwindling too fast."

    "What happened?" Bette asked.

    "Mom confronted me, and I admitted I was smoking. We talked. Mom
acknowledged her share of the blame. She knew she was a bad example because
she smoked so much. She understood my curiosity. She decided there was nothing
she could do. So she let me smoke."

    "That's cool," Brandi replied. "How did Heather react?"

    "Heather thought it was great," Mark smiled. "Unknown to Mom, Heather was
already smoking, too. Once I was allowed to smoke, it was even easier for
Heather to sneak cigarettes and smoke without getting caught."

    "Wait a minute," Brandi interrupted. "You were fifteen, so Heather was
only É. How old was little Heather when she started smoking?"

    Mark answered. "Heather actually started when she was twelve."

    "No shit!" Brandi exclaimed. "God, what did your mom say? Did she freak?"

    "No. Remember, Mom didn't find out 'til last year. By then Heather was
fourteen. When she did find out, she was pissed. But what could she do?
Heather'd been smoking for over two years. She wouldn't quit, and she lived
with two smokers. So Mom gave up and let Heather smoke, too."

    Bette shook her head. "Wow. How old is Heather now?"

    "Fifteen," Mark smiled proudly. "She's a freshman in high school."

    "God, she's fifteen and she's already been smoking for three years! How
much does she smoke?"

    "Heather insists it's under pack a day," Mark shrugged, "because Mom wants
her to keep her habit under control. I'm not sure she's telling the truth," he
added with a knowing grin. "Heather's got a lot of smoking buddies at school.
They get together and smoke before and after school every day. I think
Heather's really smoking more like a pack and a half a day."

    "We know what that's like, don't we, Brandi?" Bette smiled. "Smoking at
school?"

    "Yeah," Brandi agreed. "Bette and I used to smoke together in high school.
That's where I started smoking."

    At this point the waitress arrived at the table. She carried a pot of
coffee. Without being asked, she poured some into Brandi's cup. The waitress
acted strangely familiar as she spoke with a slight Spanish accent. "Without
cream or sugar, as I remember," the waitress said. "And I see you cut your
hair."

    "Yeah," Brandi replied. She was confused. What is this woman talking
about? I cut my hair months ago.

    The waitress was attractive, and she beamed at Brandi. "You switched to
menthols," she went on, motioning to the Salem Light 100's on the table. "I
guess you were serious when you said you thought the menthols were nice."

    Brandi looked at the petite, dark-haired woman. She was sure she'd never
seen this person before. "Do I know you?" she finally asked.

    Now the waitress was confused. She spoke slowly. "My name is Katarina. And
aren't you É? She stared at Brandi. "My God, I'm sorry. I thought I knew you.
You aren't Aimee, are you?"

    Brandi laughed. "Oh my God," she said. "You think I'm my sister. My sister
must have been in here." She smiled politely. "She doesn't smoke. But we do
look alike."

    "I'm sorry," came the puzzled reply. "But it was last night that Aimee was
here, smoking like you."

    Brandi shook her head. "It couldn't have been last night. Aimee was with
Bill. And you think my sister smokes? You're mistaken. Aimee hates cigarettes.
She's never smoked in her life."

    Katarina continued to look puzzled. "I don't think I'm mistaken," she said
with certainty. "The woman I spoke with last night was a smoker. A new smoker,
to be sure, but a smoker. Of that I am certain." She eyed Brandi. "She looked
like you; and her name was Aimee."

    "I'm Brandi, and I do have a sister named Aimee. But she doesn't smoke.
Was the girl you're talking about here with a guy? A tall, sort of dumb
looking guy named Bill?"

    Katarina nodded. "She and a man had a fight in the cafe. But I would not
call him dumb looking. He was tall. He wanted her to quit smoking. She told
him to fuck off." Katarina smiled. "Excuse my language," she apologized. "But
that was the language she used. Her name was Aimee," she repeated.

    Brandi's head was spinning. She took a long drag off her cigarette. She
inhaled and, as she did, nicotine hit her lungs. She felt it calm her nerves.
"God, I don't know," she muttered. Smoke escaped with her words. "My sister is
Aimee. She looks like me. She did have a fight with her boyfriend last night.
But you're mistaken. The fight couldn't have been about É."

    "About her smoking?" Katarina finished. "I didn't mean to upset you. But
perhaps you should ask your sister. She will tell you that she was smoking in
here last night." She smiled. "She smoked two cigarettes with me at the break
table in the back."

    Katarina pointed to a table in the back of the cafŽ's smoking section
where Brandi saw another waitress, a young girl, sitting and smoking.

    Brandi smiled weakly. "Okay," she stammered as Katarina walked away. "I
will ask Aimee. Thanks very much."

    "God, I'd never have guessed Aimee smoked," Bette said once Katarina was
gone.. "She always seemed so É I don't know É so uptight and straight-laced.
But Katarina is sharp. I wonder if she could be right. I just can't imagine
your sister smokes."

    Throughout the interchange Mark sat at the table with a satisfied smile.
He spoke up as Katarina left. "Your sister does smoke, Brandi. I assumed you
knew."

    "How would you know?" she asked. "How could you possibly know? We haven't
seen each other for years!"

    "Heather told me," Mark said simply.

    "Heather?" Brandi gasped. "How in the hell would your little sister
Heather know that my sister Aimee is smoking?"

    "Yeah, what gives?" Bette asked.

    "Heather ran into Aimee this morning in the park by our house. They smoked
together. Apparently Aimee is smoking with lots of different people," he
grinned.

    Now Brandi was totally confused. But Mark went on. "I still live at home.
I saw Heather before I came here. She was all cranked up because she and her
smoking buddies taught one of her little friends, named Cheryl, how to smoke
this morning. They did it at a public park."

    He paused for a hit on his Merit. "It went well," he added as an aside.
"We now have another new teenage smoker. But, in any case, at the park Heather
and her friends ran into your sister. Heather immediately recognized her. She
told me Aimee was smoking. In fact, Aimee actually helped Heather and the
others teach Cheryl to smoke."

    "This can't be happening," Brandi exclaimed. "I'm worrying about how to
break the news that I started smoking again, while she's off teaching children
how to smoke?"

    "Cheryl isn't a child," Mark corrected her. "She's fifteen and she's a
good kid. She just wants to learn to smoke. That's all. It may be illegal for
her to buy cigarettes, but it's not immoral to teach her to smoke."

    :"That's not the point," Brandi went on, sucking again on her cigarette.
"The point is that you and this waitress are telling me that my sister is
smoking. My sister, one of the great anti-smokers of all time! Smoking?"
Brandi shook her head, took a last drag and crushed her cigarette in the
ashtray. As she exhaled the smoke, she immediately lit up another.

    "Chain-smoke much?" Mark teased.

    Ignoring his barb, Brandi waved her fresh cigarette in the air and
continued. "This does make sense of a strange message Aimee's boyfriend left
on our answering machine this morning," she went on. "Bill said he was sorry
about 'the smoking thing.' I had no idea what he meant. I figured maybe he was
smoking, which would have been the first smart thing that dumb ass ever did.
But he must have meant that Aimee was smoking." She paused for a hit on her
cigarette. "I'll be damned!' she said. For the first time, a grin erupted on
Brandi's face.

    "Mark, you've got to help me," she said excitedly, exhaling while she
talked. "I've got an idea. I've been worried about how to tell Aimee I'm
smoking. But if what you're saying is true, she's probably worrying about the
same thing. I can solve both our problems and have some fun in the process.
Will you help?"

    "Sure," Mark smiled. "But let me take a trip to the little boy's room.
I'll be right back."

    By the look on his face, Brandi guessed he was still smitten with his
boyhood fantasy of going out with her. That pleased her. "He's quite a hunk,
isn't he?" she said to Bette.

    "He sure is," Bette said, with a lecherous grin.

    Brandi paused for a moment to reflect. George was nice, but he was a bit
old for her. On the other hand, Mark was a bit young, but only by two years.
"You and Mark aren't going out, are you?" she asked Bette.

    "God, no," Bette laughed. "I don't think Mark is seeing anyone right now.
He'll be a good catch for some woman who's looking for a relationship with a
serious smoker."

    "That's what I'm looking for," Brandi sighed. "That's exactly what I'm
looking for."

    Mark returned, and Brandi explained all that had happened over the last
few days, how she'd started smoking again and how Aimee thought it might help
control her over-eating. "I want to have some fun with Aimee. It's her fault
this whole thing happened. If she's smoking in the park with teenagers, she's
obviously hooked, but just scared to admit it to me. So let's have some fun at
her expense. Why don't you and your little sister come over for dinner
tonight? We'll cook out. Aimee will be terrified when I tell her. She'll have
to confess before you arrive. I can pretend to be horrified, and then pull out
my own cigarettes and light up. It'll be great!"

    Mark smiled. "That sounds wonderful. I'd love to come. I don't know about
Heather, but I'll find out." He paused. "My step-father is out of town. Can I
invite Mom, too? After all, from what you said she may have been the impetus
for all this. She'd love being invited."

    "If she can come, that will be even better. God, this will be so cool!"

    "Do you want my cell phone to call Heather and your mom right now?" Bette
asked.

    "Sure," Mark replied. "We'll button this whole thing down."

    "One condition," Bette asked. "You have to invite me, too. I want to see
your sister, the former anti-smoker, eat crow. Why don't you invite my sister,
Paige, too?"

    "Done," Brandi agreed. "Aimee was with Paige last night, before she broke
up with Bill. Paige must have taught Aimee to smoke. Maybe Aimee figured she'd
use it to convince me to try it, too. Aimee never knew I used to smoke. But
she obviously got cold feet, and the whole plan backfired on her when she got
hooked. Yeah, Paige should definitely come, if she can."

    Over the next few minutes several phone calls were made. Mark confirmed
his sister and mother were free. Bette had to lean on Paige to cancel a date,
but she agreed to join them. In the latter conversation, Bette confirmed that
Paige had in fact taught Aimee to smoke.

    "Thanks, guys," Brandi said. She was pleased with herself. "I'm going home
to tell Aimee we're having company. She'll shit a brick when she finds out you
and Heather are among the invited guests! This will be so much fun!"

    "There's one more person we should invite." Brandi motioned to the
waitress. When Katarina arrived at the table, Brandi explained what had
happened, and what they planned to do. "So," she concluded. "Can you come,
too?"

    Katarina's eyes were flashing. "I can. I get off at five tonight. It was a
privilege to encourage your sister. I myself love to smoke. I know how much
pleasure it brings." She grabbed Brandi's hand. "Aimee very much wanted you to
start smoking, too," she said fervently. "That prayer has been answered. I am
honored to be invited."

    After getting directions, Katarina returned to her post. Mark spoke.
"Brandi, I told Bette I'd leave when her friend arrived. But if you don't
mind, I'd love to stay and talk some more."

    "Go ahead, stay," both girls replied. "We're partners in crime now!"

    Brandi looked at the tan face across the table. She couldn't believe this
was the same Mark Sargent she knew as a kid. He was handsome, funny and
interesting. And he was a smoker.

    They drank coffee and talked for another hour Brandi had a good time
Finally, Bette had to leave. "I've got stuff to do," she explained. "I'll see
you at five thirty at your apartment."

    "Great," Brandi called out as Bette made her way to the cash register. She
looked at the ashtray on the table. It was overflowing with cigarette butts.
She did quick math in her head and deduced she'd consumed almost an entire
pack today. And it was still only after two o'clock in the afternoon!

    "Brandi," Mark said, awakening her from her musing. "It's been great
seeing you. Would you mind if I called you? I mean, I know you're older than I
am, but would you consider having dinner together sometime? A date, I mean?"

    Brandi was flattered. "Sure," she answered. "Two years difference doesn't
matter to me. I'd love to."

    He politely flicked his lighter for her; Brandi was ready for another
cigarette. "It's great that you're smoking. That's why Bette and I get along.
We're just friends, but there's no future in any relationship - even a
friendship - with a non-smoker. I hope that doesn't sound harsh," he added.

    Brandi smiled. "No, it doesn't," she agreed. "You're right. Why don't you
have another cigarette yourself?" She was enjoying hers. She'd enjoyed each
one today.

    "Don't mind if I do," Mark smiled. This time Brandi flicked the lighter
and lit him up.

    "If you like, I'll give you a ride back to your house," he offered. "That
will save some time. I assume you need to stop at the store and buy some stuff
for the party. This way you can stay and talk with me a little longer."

    "I'd like that," Brandi smiled, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.
"I'd like that a lot."

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

Previous part | Next part