Anne's Choice, Part 8

ANNE'S CHOICE
by Richad
 
Chapter 8
 
Martin and Anne saw very little of each other during the next month.  Martin
was working away from home through the week and Anne spent the weekends
visiting her parents.  Her father was out of hospital and making a good
recovery.  Late one Sunday evening, Anne was driving back to London when she
called Martin from her car.
 
"Hi," he said.  "How are things?"
 
"Fine," said Anne.  "I thought I might call in to see you on my way home."
 
"Sure," replied Martin. "I was about to go to bed, though."
 
Anne grinned.  "That's just what I had in mind."
 
 
She let herself into Martin's apartment, undressed quietly and slipped into
bed beside him.  Half-asleep and half-aroused, he turned over and began to
kiss her.  At once he seemed to grow tense, though he said nothing.  Anne
knew without having to ask that he was smelling and tasting the many
cigarettes which she had smoked in her car during the long journey home.  Oh,
well, she thought, he had to find out sooner or later.  I'm not playing games
again this time.
 
To Anne's relief, Martin's discovery had not diminished his desire for her.
Almost the reverse, it seemed: Martin was plainly as hungry for her as ever.
They made love energetically, if rather silently.  Afterwards, Martin propped
himself up on one elbow and looked at her reproachfully.
 
"You promised," he complained.
 
Anne shrugged, but said nothing.  She was wishing she hadn't left her
cigarettes in the car.
 
"So what next?" Martin persisted.  "Are you going to try to stop again?"
 
Anne shook her head.  "No," she said, firmly.  "At least, not any time soon.
I don't even want to think about it.  You've never smoked.  You just can't
imagine how much I hated not smoking."  She sat up in bed.  "There wasn't a
day went past when I didn't want a cigarette so badly.  Sometimes I woke up
in the morning crying at the thought of yet another day ahead without
smoking.  I tried to hide it from you, but you must have realised that I was
unhappy most of the time, didn't you?  I don't want to go back to feeling as
bad as that again."
 
"Perhaps you just went about it the wrong way,", Martin suggested.  "You
could try using some help next time - you know, like nicotine patches, or
hypnosis, or something."
 
"No, you're missing the point," Anne replied.  "I'm not just talking about
the struggle I'd have if I tried to stop again.  What I'm saying is that I
don't actually want to stop at all.  I tried being a non-smoker and I didn't
like it.  That morning after my dad's heart attack I made a conscious
decision.  I wasn't drunk or stressed out.  I had a choice to make and I
chose to smoke."  She looked at Martin steadily.  "And I haven't regretted it
for a moment."
 
"But you enjoyed being healthier," Martin protested, despairingly.  "You
liked having more stamina for your dance class.  And you were glad to be rid
of your cough.  You said so."
 
"Yes, that's all true," Anne agreed.  "It was nice to feel fitter, and to be
able to walk upstairs without getting a pain in my chest.  I liked not having
this cough all the time.  The extra money was useful, too.  But- well, all I
can say is that it just wasn't enough to be worth it.  I'm sorry, Martin, I
enjoy smoking too much to want to stop again.  In the end I'd rather be happy
and breathless than fit and miserable."
 
Anne got out of bed and began to dress.  "And now," she said, " I've got to
go.  I have an early start tomorrow." 
 
Also, she thought to herself, but did not say aloud, I'm dying for a
cigarette.
 
 
*     *     *
 
 
It was Anne's turn to be busy working away from home, pursuing a promotion
deal for her magazine with a temperamental supermodel.  Another three weeks
went past during which she did not see Martin at all.  She tried to phone him
whenever she had time, but always reached his voicemail.  Eventually when she
was at home one evening she succeeded in catching him on his cell phone.
 
"Hi, stranger," she said.  "I'm back, and I was wondering if you were doing
anything on Friday night?"
 
"Sorry," he said, "I can't make it on Friday."
 
"Oh, well, what about Saturday, then?"
 
"Umm-no," Martin replied.  "I can't do Saturday either, I'm afraid."
 
"You're very busy, all of a sudden," Anne said, teasingly,  "Not seeing
someone else, are you?"
 
"Well, I-  As a matter of fact, I  ..er.. yes, I am."
 
Anne's heart was pounding.  She reached automatically for her cigarettes.
"Who is she, Martin?  Do I know her?"
 
"Her name's Carol," Martin said, reluctantly.  "You might have seen her at
the health club.  Tall, with short blonde hair.  Always on the running
machines.  She's very fit-"  His voice tailed off.
 
"So it's all over between us?"  Anne demanded.  "Is that what you're telling
me?"
 
Martin did not reply.  Anne's hand shook as she lit a cigarette.  From the
other end of the phone, Martin could hear the click of her lighter followed
by an intake of breath as she took a deep drag.  Still he said nothing.
 
"But why, Martin?  It's because I started smoking again, isn't it?" 
 
Martin spoke at last.  "It's like I said before.  I love you, Anne; I really
do, but I can't live with the thought of you hurting yourself forty times a
day.  For a while I  believed we had got it beaten.  I was so happy to see
you getting fitter and healthier, and  I thought you were enjoying it too.
Now I don't think you'll ever be free from smoking.  You're hopelessly
addicted.  I'm very sorry, Anne.  I just can't bear the thought of  spending
the rest of my life watching you killing yourself with cigarettes."
 
They talked for a little while longer and then rang off, promising vaguely to
meet up soon for a drink.  Anne sat smoking and thinking about what Martin
had said.  It hadn't come as a complete surprise to her: ever since the night
of her father's heart attack she had sensed that he was distancing himself
from her, preparing the ground for a tactical retreat.  So why had she let it
happen?  Why hadn't she been willing to do what she had to do to save her
relationship with the man she loved?  Even as she asked herself these
questions, she knew that the experience of the past year provided the answer:
she was a smoker, and there was no more to be said about it.  Smoking was a
part of her, as natural as eating or sleeping or breathing.  Her cigarettes
were her best friends and she had been lost without them.  They helped her to
think; they made good times better; they comforted her when she was unhappy.
She knew that she would miss Martin, but she also knew that she would not
wake up in the morning crying and craving his company. 
 
Anne put her cigarette down in the ashtray and went to the kitchen to pour
herself a drink, still thinking about Martin.  He had made his choice, just
as Anne had made hers.  Maybe in future she should restrict herself to dating
smokers: experience had shown that they were less likely to bother about her
own habit.  She coughed, and reflected ruefully that her chest felt as heavy
as ever before.  Perhaps Martin was right: perhaps her best friends had
already begun slowly to kill her.  One day she would definitely have to think
about quitting for good.  But not today. 
 
Wiping away a tear, she walked back to the lounge with her glass of wine.
She picked up the cigarette which was smouldering in the ashtray and placed
it gently between her lips.
 
 
 

Epilogue
 
 
 
Martin
 
Martin's new romance with the tall, blonde Carol was going well.  They were
both good at sports and were able to play a variety of games against one
another, such as tennis and squash.  With their shared interest in sport they
found that they had a lot of friends and acquaintances in common, which added
to the enjoyment of the parties and other social activities which they were
now attending in each other's company.  They hadn't yet been to bed together,
but all the indications were that this would not be long delayed.
 
At times, Martin couldn't help comparing Carol with Anne.  Carol did not
smoke, of course, and her apartment always had a fresh and fragrant air about
it.  She herself used a variety of essential oils which made her skin smell
sweet and wholesome.  Her hair smelt of aromatic conditioner.  Her body was
slim and well toned.  It was easy to imagine her as a partner for life and,
one day, as a mother - the perfect role model for her future family, and for
his.
 
But there were other days when Martin missed Anne very badly.  She had been
more fun to be with than any other girl he had ever dated, as well as being
the most beautiful.  Sometimes he would lie in bed and imagine that she was
still there beside him.  He would picture her dark eyes and recall the feel
of the curves of her body.  Stop it, he would say to himself: it's over.
Remember instead the smell of cigarette smoke in her hair, the bitter taste
of tar on her breath.  But when he did, he would find to his horror that,
despite his aversion to smoking, he was growing hard. 
 
Martin was confused.  What kind of man was he to be turned on by the effects
of Anne's unpleasant and unhealthy addiction?  The truth, he now realised,
was that he had been turned on by them from the outset.  Why had he not been
able to admit this to himself until now?  And why did his thoughts about Anne
in turn revive much earlier memories of women smokers?  One thing was
certain: he would never tell a living soul about this.  What would his
friends think of him if he confessed to being aroused by remembering the
smell of cigarettes on a woman's breath?
 
And so Martin would fall asleep, looking forward to his next date with Carol,
yet dreaming, secretly and guiltily, of one last smoke-flavoured kiss from
Anne.
 
 
 
 
Anne
 
After her father's illness and then her break-up with Martin, Anne considered
that she deserved a treat.  She had never been to the United States and, on
an impulse, she booked herself a return flight for two weeks' holiday.  She
had no concerns about travelling alone: she liked the idea of the
independence which it would allow her. She did not, however, relish the
prospect of a non-smoking transatlantic flight, and armed herself with a
plentiful supply of nicotine gum.  After a week's sightseeing around New York
City, she decided to hire a car and see a little of America outside the big
city. 
 
Anne's first night away from New York found her in a town in New Jersey.  She
checked into a hotel and, feeling in the mood for company, went down town to
see what might be happening.  She entered a lively-looking bar, sat at the
counter and ordered a drink.  Opening her bag, she took out her Marlboros,
happy to discover that the restrictions on smoking to which she had been
subject in New York did not yet apply here.  She put a cigarette in her mouth
and was about to start searching in her bag again when she heard the click of
a lighter and glanced up.  A man who looked like a heavier version of Tom
Selleck was smiling down at her.  She accepted the light from him gratefully.
 
"Thank you", she said, and in doing so she accidentally blew some smoke
towards the man's face.  Oh dear, she thought, I hope he didn't think that
was rude.
 
The man smiled again.  "You're welcome," he replied.  "I don't recall seeing
you before in this watering hole."

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