Dr. Blacklung, I Presume?, Part 7

Dr. Blacklung, I Presume
By:  slimv

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Chapter 7:  Bette Davis Center
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The sign on the gate introduced the building as The Bette Davis Center.  

"We're here," said Bill O'Hare as he drove through the gates down the winding
tree lined drive.  The house was an impressive looking brick antebellum with
columns extending the width of its massive front porch.

A valet stepped out to greet him as drove up in front of the house. He left
the car running as he and Kenny got out to retrieve Katie's bags from the
trunk.

It was a beautiful spring day and Katie wasn't in a hurry to start her
therapy.  She walked over to the fountain where her mother was staring at a
peculiar statue in the middle of the water.  It depicted a beautiful woman
holding a cigarette.  That was odd enough but what made the statue more odd
was the steam escaping from both the statue's mouth and the tip of her bronze
cigarette, giving the appearance that the statue was smoking.

"Who's that supposed to be" asked Katie?

"That's Bette Davis," said her mom as she pulled two cigarettes from her
pack, offering one to her daughter.  "She was a famous actress years ago.
Died from cancer I think.  She smoked a lot.  It was one of the things she's
remembered for."

Katie looked up at the statue.  "Remembered for what?" asked Katie.  "Dieing
or smoking?"  She took the cigarette from her mom and accepted a light.

Margie laughed.  "You wouldn't ask if you had seen her movies.  For all I
know, she may be the reason why your grandmother and I started smoking.  She
made it look so feminine yet powerful at the same time.  Bette Davis made
smoking glamorous."

Katie allowed the smoke to drift under its own power from her open mouth.
"Its not glamorous mom.  It's horrible.  That's why I'm here.  Remember?"

Margie sighed and turned from the statue of Bette and faced her daughter.  A
small breez e from the west came up at the same time, picking up the ends of
Katie's long blond hair, making them waltz around her head.  Just a little
girl, she thought to her self- my little girl.  But the cigarette in her hand
told a different story.

"Yes Honey.  I remember.  But that's not why we're here.  You're not here to
quit smoking.  You're here to start living."

Margie shifted and tapped her ash.  "You need to quit being so serious about
this."

"What are you saying Mom?  I'm dieing.  What's going on with you?  I know I
told you to lighten up, but aren't you taking this a little too lightly.  You
could keep your perspective on this you know."

Margie lifted the cigarette to her lips and pulled gently on the filter as
she thought about Katie, when she was 11, when she was 12 and all the days
and weeks before emphysema made her nightmares come true.

She smiled at Katie and said, "You used to think it was glamorous.  Do you
remember when you were 12 and you were getting all d ressed up for the
Father-Daughter dance at your school?  You wore a red dress and I remember it
as the first time I let you wear make-up in public.  Do you remember wanting
me to take your picture with Daddy while you smoked because you thought you
looked pretty?  I even have a picture of him lighting your cigarette that
night.  You were so happy.  And yes Katie you were glamorous, and whether you
know it or not, you still are.  And that's why you're here.  You're here to
"Master your Habit".

"Are you ready to go in," asked Kenny?

"In a minute.  I want to finish my cigarette first."

Kenny laughed.  "I haven't been inside yet, but I'm pretty sure they'll let
you smoke inside.  As a matter of fact I think they kind of encourage it.


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There were only 5 steps leading up to the covered porch.  But each of them
felt a mile high as she did her best not to be dead weight as Kenny and her
father helped her to the porch.

"Why does a place li ke this have stairs?" she asked to no one in particular.

Dr. Ben Avery greeted them at the door.  He told them how happy he was to see
them all, especially Katie, as he held the door open for them.

It may have been a home at one time but the place was now open for business.
The foyer floor was tiled in marble.  Their heels clicked against it as they
walked.  The walls were paneled wood.  A mahogany reception desk with a
pretty nurse, smoking of course, greeted their eyes at the end of the room.

Kenny looked around him.  Young women filled the couches and chairs.  Only
one was not smoking, but that was because she was preparing to light up.  The
oldest woman he saw was maybe in her early 50s.  If not for the cigarette
smoldering between her lips, Kenny might have been tempted.  The youngest
appeared to be 10 or so and she was smoking multiples to the delight of three
teenage girls who appeared to be cheering her on.  Nothing glamorous about
that, he thought as he strolled toward reception with Katie still gasping for
breath on his arm.

Dr. Avery paused and extended his arm toward an occupied table surrounded by
overstuffed chairs.  "Please make your self comfortable while I help Mr.
O'Hare with the sign in.  And of course please feel free to smoke.  Its kind
of a policy around here."

Kenny felt creeped out in the presence of Dr. Avery.  There was something
about him that wasn't right, but no one else seemed to feel this way.
Katie's mom revered him as a god.  Her father seemed to genuinely trust him. 

Bill stared at the maze of papers the pretty young nurse had strewn across
the mahogany surface.  He bent forward with pen in hand.  She was inches from
his face.  The smoke from her cigarette curled toward him as if it had a mind
of his own.  The word Marlboro was printed discreetly on its white paper
dressing.  He found him self wondering about such things for the first time.
Why did the company feel the need to print its name on the cig arette it
self.  Wasn't their name on the pack sufficient?  Was it some form of ashtray
advertising?  Or was it for times like this?  The brand name on the cigarette
exclaimed that the pretty young thing in front of him smokes Marlboro.  So
she did, and if the smoke from her cigarette wasn't harming her it was
killing him.

The nurse noting his confusion pointed to the first paper requiring his
attention.  How much trouble would it have taken to use her free hand.  She
chose instead to use her cigarette as a pointer before returning it to her
mouth for a deep luxurious puff of pleasure.  But there was no pleasure in
this puff.

A raspy cough rumbled in her throat.  He'd heard that rumble before in
Katie's throat and should have taken it seriously.  His delay was costly.
Nurse Marlboro wretched and heaved.  Bill looked up to see her mouth open.
Time slowed down or so it seemed.  There was no time to duck or side step.
Nurse Marlboro shot a load from her lungs.  It travele d up her windpipe like
a bullet through a barrel, over her tongue and past her yellowing teeth,
landing with a splat on his lips.

He should have been shocked or at least repulsed.  But it wasn't his first
time being slimed.  Nurse Marlboro apologized half-heartedly.  Apparently he
wasn't the first victim of her lung spasms.  She leaned forward, smiling, and
the cleavage from her chest peeked out from behind her unbuttoned white
polyester uniform.  She raked a nicotine stained finger across his lips.  The
sent of smoke on her hand assaulted his nose.  The brown sticky phlegm stuck
to her finger like weak glue.

Bill's jaw dropped as Nurse Marlboro placed the tar soaked finger to her
lips, licking it clean, then continuing with the paper work as if nothing had
ever happened.

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"I took the liberty of having Katie's bags sent to her room," said Dr. Avery.
"I'll show it to you now.  We'll take the long way around and make a tour out
of it.  What do you say?"

"The house was built in 1969 for Bette Davis.  You'll notice the lavish
staircase but most of our patients prefer the elevator.  It's there by the
wall Katie.  Ms. Davis wasn't one for stairs.  I had the pleasure of
providing her care for the final two years of her life.  She smoked right up
to the very end, passed with a cigarette in her hand.  As a matter of fact,
it was I who lit her last cigarette."  He stopped in front of a portrait of a
beautiful woman decked in her finest and sporting a cigarette holder.  "As
she was in her prime," said Avery reverently.  

"Dr. Avery!" squealed a little voice.  Katie turned to see a girl, no older
than 12 run up to give the doctor a hug.  A coughing fit ensued and the
little girl dropped the cigarette from her fingers as she fought to catch her
breath.

The doctor bent to his knees and retrieved the smoldering stick.  "I think
you dropped this Carla," he said with a crooked smile.

The little girl giggled as she took her c igarette back from the doctor.  "I
smoked three packs yesterday," said Carla excitedly.  "Did the nurses tell
you?"

"Of course they did," said Avery proudly, as he combed her hair with his
loving touch.

Carla's face, already lit up with her encounter with Dr. Avery, turned three
shades brighter as she recognized the blond angel in her midst.

"Katie!!" she screamed.  "You're Katie O'Hare."

Katie's brow arched as she struggled to place the little girl's face.

"You'll find that you're somewhat of a celebrity around here with the younger
set," said Dr. Avery.  

"Look Katie.  I'm smoking like you!"

Katie was confused and terribly distraught.  "That's not why I came to your
school Carla.  You got it wrong.  I never wanted you to start smoking."

She felt Dr. Avery's hand on her shoulder and was soon looking at him for
direction.  The softness in his voice told her not to be upset.

"It's OK Katie.  You freed Carla.  It wasn't your fault she started smoking.
It was Carla's destiny.  You've helped thousands of kids to put off smoking
their first cigarettes and you should be proud.  You've done some marvelous
work.  But you can't save the world Katie.  There are some girls, like Carla,
who want to smoke and will always want to.  You liberated Carla's spirit.
You gave her the courage to be whom she needed to be- a smoker like you.
Your message is a double edge sword.  It means different things to different
kids.  But believe me sweetheart; you always make a difference in the lives
of these young children.  And hopefully after some time with us you'll begin
to understand that."

Katie was still shaken and she needed a cigarette.  Intuitively Kenny gave
her a light and took her hand and they continued the tour.

Dr. Avery showed them the dining hall and meeting rooms where classes such as
smoker's self-esteem, smoker's etiquette, and power smoking were taught.
They came upon one room with its door closed.  Dr. Avery told them a class
was in sess ion and he didn't want to disturb it, but they could peek through
the window.

As each family member took their turn at the glass, Dr. Avery explained that
it was a family counseling session.  He told them that that girls came to him
at all stages in their development as smokers.  Some were hopelessly addicted
like Katie.  They needed help in smoking more, flexing their lungs and making
the best of what remained of their lives.  Others like Carla, the little girl
they had met by the stairs, were just starting.  Their parents need
counseling to accept their young daughters had become women.

"Some parents are overjoyed, and they want to give their daughters a boost.
Our patients have so many reasons for being here," said Dr. Avery.

Eventually the tour finished in the hall with all the bedrooms.  Katie's room
was large and comfortable looking with four beds.  Each bed was equipped with
a canister and mask.  The walls were decorated with photos of former patients
smoking for the camera.  Margie noticed that many of the photos had a black
star in the lower right hand corner of the frames.

"The black stars are for our patients who have crossed over and reside in the
smoke filled clouds of heaven," said Dr. Avery.  "Those are our daughters who
are with Bette." 

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