Behind the Times, Part 6

Behind the Times, Part 6 of 6

This story is dedicated to Laura (LadySmoker) for her kind words of
encouragement.


6.  Back to the Future

The face, the street, the city, are gone, much faster this time.  His body
sags with the sudden weight of 20 extra years.  He is standing on cold,
granite steps, in Columbus, Ohio, in 1996.  He is holding the Zippo at arm’s
length in front of him.  It’s flame looks perfectly normal.

No one is there to receive the light.  He closes the lighter.

Click.

It wasn’t fair.  He was back in the gray gloom of the 90s, 36 years old, and
out of work.  Unemployable because he was a smoker.

Somehow, he had blown it.  Lighting an assassin’s cigarette with the Zippo
had been a mistake.  It had not been the right moment.  The magic was gone,
ended.  No more dreams of wealth and happiness.  No more dreams at all.

Natalia had said, "Not all wish for men to find happiness."  Well, whoever
"they" were, they must be happy because he sure wasn’t.

He pocketed the Zippo and turned to face the Borderlands Insurance building.
 His watch told him he still had 57 minutes until he was due for his
interview.  Was it right?  Who knew?  Anyway, he didn’t feel like bothering.
 He just wanted to go home.

Looking at doors in front of him, Grant noticed that some things were
missing.  The huddled groups of smokers, for one thing.  The "No Smoking"
signs on the door, for another.

Grant turned and looked down at the street.  He saw the usual traffic, the
usual passers-by…but something new had been added.

People were smoking!  Many people!  Without a second thought or hint of
self-consciousness, smoking on the street!

Grant turned back to the building.  Indeed, the brutally slashed cigarettes
were gone, with no sign they had ever been there.  Perhaps all was not lost…

Grant entered and approached the lobby desk.  The young female guard was
writing on a clipboard while clenching a long white cigarette in her teeth.

"Yes?" she looked up at Grant.  "Can I help you?"  small white puffs exited
her mouth as she spoke.

Grant’s hopes rose three big notches.  "Yes, I have an appointment with Ms.
Jamison.  I’m early, I think…"

The attractive guard slid a visitor’s badge across the desk.  A cloud of
exhaled smoke followed it across to him.  :"OK, you can go on up.  Eleventh
floor.  Can’t miss it."

The lobby was almost empty at this hour, with only two hours to quitting
time.  Grant walked alone to the elevator bank and punched an "Up" button.
 He still wasn’t sure he believed what he was seeing, or if he dared to hope
it would last.  The elevator arrived and he got in.

Grant pushed for the eleventh floor and examined the car.  As it began to
rise he saw the ashtray bolted to the side wall.  He slapped it with his
hand, fearing that it might prove insubstantial, but it remained solid and
firmly attached.  An ashtray.  Inside the elevator.  An ashtray in that most
inviolable of smoke-free environments!

Grant got off on eleven and passed through a glass door labeled "Data
Processing."  A receptionist sat at a desk just past the entrance.  He looked
with a practiced eye.  Was she…no, but there was an overflowing ashtray
sitting beside her computer.

"I’m Grant, here to see Ms. Jamison, " he said.  "For a job interview,  at
4:00.  I know I’m early…"

"Just a moment," the receptionist replied and picked up her phone.  After a
murmured conversation, she look up at him and said, "Ms. Jamison’s free now.
You can go on in, Mr. Grant."  She indicated a door behind her desk.

"Thanks"  Grant opened the door and entered.

Ms. Jamison was seated at a large, cluttered  mahogany desk.  Grant took a
quick inventory. There were two ashtrays on the desk, one at her elbow, the
other plainly for visitors.  Both showed signs of recent use.

"Sit down, please, Mr. Grant," she said.  Looking her over, Grant guessed she
was about ten years older than he was, but still slim and attractive, with
glossy shoulder-length auburn hair.  Grant sat in the chair in front of the
desk.

"I’ve reviewed your resume and application, Mr. Grant…"  The interview
proceeded along the usual lines as his various qualifications were discussed,
until she paused and reached for a pack of cigarettes.  She did not offer,
but Grant swiftly removed his pack of B&H menthols and the Zippo.

As he reached into the pack, something about it struck him…like a
sledgehammer between the eyes.

Printed on the side of the pack was a message:  "Surgeon General’s notice:
 This pack contains 75 per cent of the USFDA recommended daily allowance
(RDA) of nicotine."

Grant’s vision blurred, but when he refocused his eyes the message was still
there, unchanged.

Nicotine beneficial?  Even essential?  Had the nature of the drug somehow
changed?  Or had it always been that way, and this was simply a more
enlightened world?  He didn’t know.  He didn’t care.  This was one gift horse
whose teeth he would never see.

Without missing a beat (he hoped), he took a cigarette and extended his
battered Zippo to Ms. Jamison.

Click.

Nothing.

Grant thumbed the wheel several more times.  No spark, no flame.  For the
first time, a Zippo lighter had failed him.

Ms. Jamison chuckled in a not unfriendly manner.  "Allow me, Mr. Grant…"  She
lit her cigarette with a desk lighter and lit her own, then extended it to
Grant.  He accepted the light with relief.

"Which reminds me, Mr. Grant," she said, expelling a large, fragrant cloud
across the desk, "you stated on you application that you are a light smoker.
 Is that true?"

Grant hesitated for a moment.  It was self-evident that he was at least a
light smoker.  Keeping in mind the message on the pack, he answered, "Well, I
probably understated that a little.  My last employer disapproved of
smoking…"

"Really?  That’s odd."  Ms. Jamison frowned while taking a long puff.  "Well,
Mr. Grant, you’ll find we have a different attitude here.  We expect our
employees, especially those in information systems, to maintain at least the
RDA of nicotine, preferably more.  Concentration is important in this job.
 If you find you have difficulty smoking that much, we have supplemental
pills you can take…"  Smoke accompanied each word of her speech, as if to add
emphasis to the point.

"Oh, it won’t be a problem at all, Ms. Jamison, I love to smoke.  I’ll
probably be doing double the RDA."

"Very good."  She blew another long stream of smoke his way.  "That was my
only reservation.  We would like you to start as soon as possible.  In fact,
If you have no further appointments today…"

"No, I’m totally yours."

She smiled again.  "We have another new hire down on nine right now.  She’s
reviewing the procedures manuals.  I imagine you two will be working closely
together, so if you are free to join her…?

"I’m there.  And thank you, Ms. Jamison…"

His departure from the office disturbed layers of stratified smoke.  As he
passed the receptionist’s desk, he saw her exhale a thick cloud at her
computer screen, momentarily obscuring the memo she was working on.

1928.  1945.  1963.  They weren’t home.  This was home.

Reaching the ninth floor, Grant followed Ms. Jamison’s directions, navigating
a maze of cubicles.  Smoke seemed to be rising from most of them, and the air
was wonderfully redolent of cigarettes.

He came to a closed door, knocked lightly, and opened it.  The room was dark
except for a reading lamp burning on a single desk.  Smoke eddied and curled
under the light, made vivid by the isolated brightness.

A girl was seated at the desk.  Grant placed her in her mid-twenties.  Her
long, pale blond hair hung over the back of the chair.  She looked up as he
entered and closed the door.

"Hi!" she said brightly.

"Hi, I’m Grant.  A new hire.  Ms. Jamison sent me to meet you and help review
the manuals."

"Well then, have a seat, Grant.  I must say, these manuals are fascinating."
 She chuckled.  Grant took an empty chair close beside her at the desk.  "I’m
Laurie.  Laurie Banning."

"Daughter of Sue Banning?"  He knew the answer already.

"Yes, that’s my mother.  She lives in Dallas…have you met?

"In a manner of speaking…"  Grant gave his best enigmatic smile.

Laurie looked at him curiously.  "I have the oddest feeling that we’ve met
before, too…in a manner of speaking."  She smiled, then glanced at her watch.
 "Uh oh, smoke time.  Did Ms. Jamison give you the nicotine lecture?"  She
fished around on the desk for her cigarettes.  She came up with a pack of B&H
menthols.  "I need to bulk up, so I’m trying to keep on a brisk smoking
schedule…"

Same brand--nice.  "Yes, I got the lecture.  And I’m looking forward to
exceeding my quota."

"Me, too," she said, placing the cigarette in her lips.  "Smoking is one of
the few good things that happen to you when you’re a teenager.  That
and…well…"

Grant laughed, feeling more relaxed with Laurie than he ever had with a
woman.  He felt like he had known her for decades.  "I know just what you
mean."  He reached in a pocket and found the Zippo.  "Damn!  I forgot!  My
lighter gave out a little while ago.

"Oh, no problem, mine’s on the fritz too.  But I managed to scrounge a Bic."
 As she thumbed a light, he noticed the lack of a childguard button.  She lit
her own, then his.

Grant watched as she took her first drag, interested to see any
intergenerational influences on her style.  It was a long, measured puff.
 When she removed the cigarette, however, she did something her foremothers
had not.  She reinserted the cigarette and took a second hit without exhaling
the first.

"Ah," she sighed, getting that sexy, dreamy look in her eyes.  Smoke issued
forth from mouth and nostrils in a flood.  Then to his delight, she reinhaled
the smoke, pursed her lips, and blew out another cloud, maintaining the
family tradition.

Swirls of fresh smoke swirled under the reading lamp.  Grant had found
paradise.

Grant and Laurie bent to the manuals (their fascination deriving solely from
her close presence), reviewing them together.  As he read, Grant was often
treated to the sudden appearance of a cloud of billowing smoke over the page,
expelled from Laurie’s lungs.  Sometimes he would have to wait for the smoke
to dissipate before he could resume reading.

Never in Grant’s experience had such a tedious task gone so swiftly or
pleasurably.  When Laurie looked at her watch and said, "Ohmigod, It’s after
six!" he could have sworn only ten minutes had passed since he entered the
room.  Time was a slippery thing….

"Look," Grant said, "would you like to get a bite with me?"  Laurie was
stubbing out her last cigarette, while exhaling the smoke thoughtfully.

Laurie looked long and deeply into his eyes.  Remnants of her last puff
bloomed attractively from her nostrils.  "Yes," she said at last.  "I’d like
that."  Another pause. A dazzling smile   "Just a minute while I collect my
things…"

As she moved some papers around the desk, he saw an old battered Zippo
lighter, deeply dented on one side.  He checked his pocket.  His lighter was
still in there.

"Laurie…where did you get that lighter?"

"Oh, there’s this neat old shop across the street.  You’ll have to see it
sometime, its got all these great…"

"I’ve been there, " he said, producing the identical Zippo and showing to
her.

Laurie looked at the lighter.  She did not seem surprised.  "I thought you
might have…"

"Did you meet Natalia, Natasha, and Nikki?" he asked.

"You mean Giorgio, Gregory, and Gerry?"

Wonders never ceased.  "Look, Laurie, I have to ask…before your lighter
stopped working, did it…did you…"

"Do you really want to talk about it, Grant?"

"No," he replied, and was surprised to find he meant it.  Some things
shouldn’t be shared, even between...what he hoped he and Laurie would become.

"I think we both ended up where we really wanted and needed to be," said
Laurie.  "Let’s just leave it at that." She smiled and giggled.

"I agree," said Grant.  "Maybe tomorrow we should take these lighters over to
the shop and get them refilled, what do you say?"

"Adventuresome, aren’t we?"  Laurie leaned over and kissed him, sharing the
sweet taste of her smoky breath.

It was the best of times.

The End

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