Ellie, 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 
2005 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. 

   ELLIE 
   
   Author's Note: This story was inspired in part by anon2's classic "Miss 
Vicki" from 1995. My story has a little different plot, but I encourage you 
to go back and read (or re-read again) "Miss Vicki" and enjoy one of the 
true classics in the archive. I also hope you enjoy this one of mine. 
   
   2. Escalation. 
   
   For months Ellie periodically signaled me that she wanted a puff off my 
cigarette, and I usually let her. This went on from January till school let 
out in early June. Over time Ellie got more aggressive about letting me 
know when she wanted one of her "little treats." Initially it was just a 
few times a day. But as months passed she did it more often and I responded 
more, too. As soon as I lit up a cigarette, her two fingers went to her 
mouth and she flashed me that playful little grin. I really didn't mind 
sharing puffs with her. After all, she wasn't smoking on her own as far as 
I knew. It was just a secret game we played. But in time it grew from two 
or three puffs a day to a regular 15 or 20 by the time school let out for 
the summer. On an average day she took one puff, maybe two, before school 
in the morning and then several an hour after she got home in the 
afternoon. 
   
   In May something happened that should've clued me in that Ellie had 
reached a new level of nicotine tolerance. She took piano lessons, and had 
for years. Her teacher felt her students needed to play at public recitals. 
A group of teachers teamed up to hold two large recital programs a year, 
the first in May and the second in October. Ellie hated these recitals. 
They were long and boring, with over 50 students playing pieces in front of 
crowds of bored family and friends. I didn't think they were all that 
important, but I always made my daughter participate anyway. 
   
   The recitals were at a nice country club where I'm a member. I actually 
helped them book my club for the recitals. It helps to have money, and 
money talks. Having the recitals at my club helped me be happier about 
attending. Since they were in the late morning, Ellie and I generally had 
lunch together at the club after the recital was over. 
   
   That year Ellie was especially unhappy about playing the spring recital. 
I understood. After all, she was 13 and most of the other kids were 
younger. She felt self-conscious being in front of a crowd, as most 
teenagers do. But I reminded her it was just part of the deal. You take 
piano lessons, you play at the recitals. She'd get through it. She always 
had. 
   
   Saturday morning of the recital came and I made reservations in the 
grille room for lunch afterward. The hour before we left Ellie practiced 
her piece. I guess she didn't have a single puff before we left. A hair 
emergency at the last minute made us later than we liked. We slipped into 
the large performance room at the club just as the first student sat down 
at the grand piano in the front. I looked at the program. Ellie was number 
43 out of 51 students. We settled in for a long and boring morning. 
   
   After ten or fifteen students performed my daughter gave me a poke in 
the ribs. 
   
   "I'm going crazy sitting here," she whispered urgently. 
   
   I laughed quietly. "I know you're nervous, honey. But you always are. 
Don't worry. It'll be fine." 
   
   "That's not what I mean. I mean, I feel weird." She took a deep breath 
as she stared right at me. "I didn't have a single `treat' this morning, 
Mom. Not even one!" 
   
   I thought for a second. "Yeah, now that I think about it, I guess you 
didn't, did you? Well, don't worry, honey. I'll give you one when we get 
home after lunch." 
   
   Several moments of squirming beside me. "Mom, I don't think I can wait 
that long," she finally replied. 
   
   Now it was my turn to stare, at her. "What in the world are you talking 
about?" 
   
   Ellie gave an embarrassed smile. "I mean, I don't think I can play my 
piece this morning unless I can have a `treat,' Mom." I must've looked at 
her like she was telling me the moon's made of green cheese or something. 
"I'm serious, Mom," she repeated. "I mean it." 
   
   The piano music in the background became a blur. I considered what Ellie 
was saying. She was telling me, in effect, that she needed a nicotine fix. 
   
   "Don't be silly," I countered unhelpfully. "You can't `need' it, honey. 
You're not like me." 
   
   More squirming. "I don't know, Mom. All I know is I think I'll die if I 
can't have one. Look at my hands." 
   
   I gazed down. Her little hands indeed were trembling noticeably. 
   
   I was flabbergasted. "Well, God, Ellie, just what do you suggest I do 
about it?" 
   
   "Can't we go somewhere, Mom? Can't you find someplace here at the club 
to have a cigarette yourself and then let me have a puff, or maybe even 
two?" 
   
   I sat back and considered my daughter's suggestion. I did occasionally 
sneak out of long boring programs like recitals for a quick cigarette, and 
Ellie knew it. It was rude, of course, but I've been known to do it anyway. 
   
   "Honey, I don't think it'd work," I whispered. "I can't exactly take you 
to the bar to share a cigarette." 
   
   With a big sigh, Ellie closed her eyes. "Please, Mom, just think of 
something!" 
   
   I doubted Ellie was having a real nicotine fit. Hell, she didn't smoke 
enough to get withdrawal symptoms. Did she? No, I figured it had to be 
ordinary nerves that she mistakenly believed a `treat' or two would fix. 
But there was no denying that my daughter was near panic attack. I pondered 
the situation a moment longer, then spoke. 
   
   "Okay, honey, let's go. I have an idea." 
   
   We were in the back of the room so it wasn't hard to sneak out. Student 
number 20 was still on stage. That meant we had another half hour, maybe 
longer, till Ellie would be up. It was more than enough time. 
   
   In the hallway I guided Ellie to the club's main office. I approached 
the desk and smiled at a uniformed girl named Suzanne standing behind it. 
Suzanne recognized me. As I said, I've been a member of this exclusive club 
for years. 
   
   "Hello, Ms. Fowler," she said. I long since stopped using Jim's last 
name, having returned to my maiden name for things like my club 
memberships. "It's nice to see you this morning. Good morning, Ellie," she 
went on. "What can I do for you two?" 
   
   "Hi, Suzanne. Is Rachel in?" Rachel Wilson is the club's hospitality 
coordinator. I know Rachel well, having used her to cater numerous events. 
Rachel owed me. 
   
   "Uh, no, Ms. Fowler. I'm sorry. Rachel's out at a meeting till one 
today. But can someone else help you with something?" 
   
   I didn't know Suzanne well. She's a pretty college age girl who works 
weekends at the club. She knew to offer me whatever help she could, since 
I'm a longtime member and a large financial supporter of the club's 
activities. As they say, membership has its privileges. 
   
   I smiled. "Suzanne, let me tell you what I need. Ellie's in a piano 
recital this morning in the main lounge, and we both have a problem. The 
program's interminable, and Ellie's feeling nervous about playing her 
piece. Meanwhile, I'm a smoker, and I'm desperate to have a cigarette 
somewhere. Do you have anyplace we can go where Ellie can relax and I can 
smoke?" 
   
   Suzanne brightened. "Sure, Ms. Fowler. You can go sit in the bar. It's 
open." 
   
   "No, Suzanne, you don't understand," I said with a patronizing smirk. 
"Ellie's feeling very self-conscious, nervous. She doesn't want to be 
anyplace where people can see her. I'd take her into the lounge outside the 
women's restroom, but I can't smoke in there." 
   
   Slowly the girl nodded. "Oh, I see," she smiled. "You want someplace 
private, but a place you can smoke?" 
   
   "Exactly, Suzanne. Do you have any ideas?" 
   
   The pretty girl frowned. "Well, you could go in Rachel's office and shut 
the door. That'd give you some privacy. I'm sure she wouldn't mind. I mean, 
I know Rachel's a friend of yours and she smokes in there." 
   
   I nodded my head forcefully. "Yes, I'm aware of that, and I'm sure 
Rachel won't mind at all." God, that was the reason I asked for Rachel in 
the first place, dearie! 
   
   "Hold on a sec, let me check for you, Ms. Fowler." 
   
   Moments later Suzanne returned with a smile. "I turned on the light for 
you, Ms. Fowler. Go ahead and go in. No one's in there. You can smoke in 
her office, no problem." She paused. "Unless Ellie would rather sit out 
here with me?" 
   
   Before my daughter could answer, I intercepted the offer. "Thanks so 
much, Suzanne, but Ellie says she wants to stay with me. She feels so 
nervous, you know." 
   
   Suzanne seemed to understand. At least, she thought she did. 
   
   "Yeah, I hated piano recitals when I was growing up, too." 
   
   We retreated into Rachel's office and closed the door. 
   
   "Mom, you're so incredibly smart," Ellie laughed, impressed. 
   
   I already had my pack of Benson & Hedges Menthol 100's out of my purse 
and was sliding one in my mouth. 
   
   "Yeah, I've had to learn to be resourceful, darling, especially when it 
comes to smoking!" I grinned at her a moment before I lit up. "Ah, that's 
real nice," I groaned happily as I hit on my cigarette. "Truly, Ellie, I'm 
glad for a little cigarette break, too. Good idea!" I pumped again and drew 
a substantial deposit of smoke into my chest. 
   
   Ellie was sitting beside me, waiting for me to put the cigarette against 
her lips. I looked at her and smiled. 
   
   "You know, honey, this is the very first time we've done this outside 
our house, isn't it?" 
   
   "Yeah, Mom," she nodded impatiently, parting her lips in anticipation. 
   
   Ellie was fit to be tied, she was so excited about getting to smoke. 
Addicted or not, she clearly enjoyed this experience and had convinced 
herself she needed a `treat' before she played. Suddenly I had an idea. 
   
   Instead of holding my cigarette up to her mouth I held it out in front 
of her. "Honey, why don't you just hold it yourself this time?" 
   
   Ellie's eyes grew wide with wonder. "Mom, are you sure?" 
   
   "Yeah, why not?" I chucked. "You're the main reason we're here in the 
first place. So yeah, go ahead. Have a puff. But you do the honors instead 
of me holding it for you." 
   
   Incredulous, Ellie gingerly took the cigarette between her fingers. She 
raised it to her mouth with a devious smile on her lips. "Gosh, thanks." 
She didn't just take a puff. She took a real, honest-to-God drag. I don't 
know if it was mere psychological need or true physiological addiction. But 
in either case, she hit on my cigarette hard, like a seasoned and veteran 
smoker. 
   
   "Ooh, that's good," she groaned blissfully after she sucked a mouthful 
of smoke into her chest. She smiled like she was in ecstasy. "Thanks, Mom!" 
   
   Her wonderment wasn't lost on me. So immediately I offered a second 
concession. "Go ahead and have another puff if you feel like it, honey. We 
need you to be in top shape to play your piece in a few minutes." 
   
   Ellie took a second drag, not quite as powerful as the first but still 
nothing to sneeze at. 
   
   "Wow, this is _so_ nice," she giggled, and smoke dribbled from her lips. 
"Thanks!" 
   
   I took the cigarette back and dragged myself. I was almost jealous of my 
daughter's rapturous gratification. 
   
   After a couple moments I gave her a wicked grin. "Ellie, do you want one 
more for the road?" 
   
   At first she didn't understand. "Mom, do you mean I can have three puffs 
from the same cigarette?" 
   
   "Yeah, sure," I shrugged. "You're about to be on stage in front of a 
couple hundred people. This morning I think you deserve it." I gave back 
the cigarette and she pounced on it, taking another forceful drag. 
   
   "But don't get used to this," I warned, accepting it back. "This is a 
special dispensation." 
   
   Ellie released a satisfied exhale. "Don't worry, Mom. I won't. But I 
really appreciate it this morning. I already feel lots better." 
   
   "Yeah, I'm sure you do," I sighed, finishing the cigarette. I opened my 
purse. 
   
   "Now, dear, two important life lessons. First, see these peppermint 
Altoids? Well, they are curiously strong, like the label says, but more 
importantly for us they hide the smell of smoke." I passed one to Ellie, 
who popped it in her mouth. "Second, perfume. You need a squirt and so do 
I." My spitzer was in my hand. I misted myself and then my daughter. "You 
won't need these often, but you should know they're how we smokers avoid 
getting nasty looks from all the stupid antis who don't understand why we 
like it so much." I snapped my purse shut and smiled. "Now, we're both 
ready to go back, refreshed and ready. Right?" 
   
   "Right, Mom," Ellie grinned, sucking furiously on her Altoid. "And, 
thanks." 
   
   "No problem, honey. Happy to do it." Just helping a fellow smoker, I 
thought to myself, or at least laying the groundwork for someone who's 
becoming a fellow smoker even if she isn't one yet. But I wasn't upset by 
the idea that Ellie was headed down a road with only one possible 
destination. It was strangely satisfying sharing that experience with 
Ellie. I didn't admit it then, but I was beginning to like the idea of my 
daughter becoming a smoker just like me. 
   
   Ellie played perfectly at the recital. She didn't seem nervous. She 
nailed her difficult piano piece. At the time I doubted if her problem was 
really nicotine addiction. But whether it was, and got cured by the 
nicotine infusion I provided, or if it was merely the benefit of having a 
placebo as a psychological crutch, or a combination of both, it worked. 
However, I could see that unless we altered her course, in due time Ellie 
indeed would be a smoker like me. But, like I said, that idea troubled me 
less and less. 
   
   School ended the first week in June. Now Ellie was home all the time, 
and that upped the frequency with which she sought her "treats." I 
should've seen it coming, I guess. I might not have played along so 
blithely if I had, but I didn't. I never consciously noticed what was 
happening to her. I was home all the time; and now so was Ellie. It made it 
easy, too easy. 
   
   Ellie was in a summer reading program. So in early June she settled down 
with a long list of books, planning to spent most of her time reading that 
summer. I had friends like Lisa I got together with, and a few volunteer 
projects, but ordinarily I was home, too. Ellie usually read in the living 
room, so whenever I passed by with a cigarette or did something in there, 
her fingers invariably went to her lips. It didn't occur to me till later 
that puffing all day would dramatically increase her nicotine consumption, 
but it did. In hindsight, I bet she went from 15 to 20 puffs a day to more 
like 50 or 60 when school was out. It was so easy, so natural and so 
inconspicuous. I mean, hell, I smoke 30 cigarettes a day, and Ellie had a 
couple drags off most of `em. I even began to let her hold the cigarette 
herself rather than hold it for her. She was smoking lots more. But I 
didn't think much about it till she visited her dad for the first time that 
summer. 
   
   Ellie visited Jim alternate weekends. In the school year, she never 
smoked those days, except for a few "treats" on Sunday night once she got 
home. She only had `treats' with me. If her dad ever found out, we both 
knew there was hell to pay. I feared Jim might re-institute a custody fight 
if he knew she was smoking. Ellie didn't want to face his wrath and neither 
did I.. So she abstained the weekends she visited him. No big deal. But 
that summer was different. After 14 consecutive days of 50 or 60 treats a 
day, well, the first time Ellie visited her dad we both discovered 
something. 
   
   Sunday night Jim dropped her off after two days together. Ellie was 
usually in a good mood when she got home from visiting her dad. That night 
she came in looking edgy and very unhappy. As soon as Jim left I asked her 
what was wrong. 
   
   "I dunno. I just felt grouchy all weekend, Mom," she complained 
bitterly. "Everything Daddy did seemed to irritate me. I don't even know 
why. I just felt all out of sorts or something all weekend long." 
   
   I paused to light up a cigarette. Immediately Ellie's fingers went to 
her lips. I grinned. 
   
   "So, I see you're ready for a treat?" 
   
   "Yeah, Mom. I'd really, really like one. It smells _so_ good!" 
   
   It hit me. Oh my God! Is Ellie addicted to nicotine? Is that why she's 
distressed? With no comment I offered the cigarette. Impulsively Ellie took 
it and raised it to her lips, beginning the longest and definitely the 
hardest drag I'd ever seen her take. Finally, very reluctantly she gave it 
back and inhaled smoke ever so deeply into her expanding chest. My 
suspicions, and what would've been my worst nightmare if I believed all the 
politically correct bullshit I was supposed to, were just about confirmed. 
My daughter was suffering from nicotine deprivation! 
   
   She noticed me staring. "What?" she blushed defensively, smoke billowing 
from her slightly parted lips. "Why are you looking at me like that?" 
   
   "I'll tell you in a minute. But first, Ellie, tell me something. How do 
you feel now?" 
   
   "Better," she fidgeted. "I think I've missed smoking. I think that's 
been my problem." 
   
   "Yeah, that's what I think, too," I agreed, sporting a smile. "Then, 
here, honey. Have yourself another puff." I gave her back my cigarette. "I 
think you need it." 
   
   Almost never did I let her have two puffs in a row. But Ellie showed no 
reluctance. She enthusiastically took my B&H Menthol 100 in her fingers and 
reunited it with her zealous mouth. A second hard drag followed. I realized 
what my daughter looked like. She looked just like - a smoker! 
   
   Ellie tipped her head to release a second long exhale and offered back 
my cigarette. I considered letting her keep it. But rational thought 
interrupted me. No, that was _not_ a good idea. Instead I kept the 
cigarette myself, tapped an ash in the ashtray and invited her into the 
living room where we both sat down. 
   
   "You know, honey, I've overlooked something that happened the last two 
weeks," I began. "I've let you smoke more since you've been home all day, 
since school's been out. And do you know what happens to a girl like you 
the more she smokes?" 
   
   She nodded. "She gets addicted?" Yes, she knew. 
   
   "That's right, addicted, and it's a big problem if we don't nip it in 
the bud." I paused to hit on my cigarette. It made what I was about to say 
hypocritical, but I couldn't help it. "I can't let you keep doing this, 
Ellie," I said, exhaling a thick stream in her direction. "It's not smart." 
   
   Tears formed in her eyes. My daughter didn't like where this was headed. 
"But Mom," she began helplessly. 
   
   "No, Ellie, I'm serious. Think what just happened. You had two miserable 
days with your father. Why? Because you couldn't smoke all weekend. I 
should've been smarter. Letting you have `treats' all day like we've been 
doing is making you addicted to nicotine." 
   
   "But I might already be addicted," Ellie smiled back. Clearly she wasn't 
giving up. "Maybe this little game of ours is already too far gone. You 
can't put a genie back in its bottle, you know, Mom." 
   
   Touché. I frowned. "So, what do you think we should do, honey?" 
   
   "I don't know. But I don't want to stop. I like it too much, Mom. 
Please, I'll agree to anything, any limits you want to put on me. Just 
don't make me stop doing it altogether." 
   
   Ellie silently watched me let out another poignant exhale. She had me, 
and she knew it. 
   
   "All right," I reluctantly sighed. My cigarette was finished. I crushed 
it in the ashtray. "You can keep having your `treats,' I guess, but we must 
be careful. If your dad finds out, you'll lose lots more than just your 
ability to puff on my cigarettes every once in awhile, you know!" 
   
   She hugged me. "I know that, Mom. But I'll be careful. I promise." Her 
eyes were sparkling. "Now how about if you light up another one and let me 
have a puff? Because I still feel like I want more." She sighed. "I still 
don't feel quite right, at least, not yet." 
   
   I looked at her. She was smiling at me on the couch, the same couch 
where her journey began six months earlier. God, I thought, shaking my 
head, my 13 year old daughter's addicted to nicotine and it's my fault. 
Worse, I didn't have the intestinal fortitude to make her stop, even if it 
was for her own good and mine. The realization drove me crazy. But whenever 
I feel crazy I know what I have to do. 
   
   I reached for my cigarettes and lit one up. As Ellie watched with eager 
anticipation, I took an opening drag and handed her the cigarette. Giggling 
impishly, she put the long white cylinder between her little smiling lips 
and mimicked the ritual I performed, dragging hard on the fresh cigarette 
and sucking smoke into her chest. 
   
   "Thanks, Mom," she grinned. As she exhaled, she stretched out her hand 
to give it back. I groaned. Despite knowing better, I shook my head. We'd 
crossed a critical threshold. Too young or not, Ellie was a smoker now. 
That was clear. For a second I didn't move. Her proffering hand hung 
unrequited in the smoky air between us. Slowly I reached for my pack and 
shook out another cigarette. 
   
   "Why don't you keep that one for yourself, Ellie?" I sighed, as I put 
the second one in my mouth. I gave my daughter a wry smile. "If we're not 
gonna fight it, then why not face reality? Hell, girl, you're a smoker. I 
think it's time I did a fellow smoker a favor. Don't you?" I lit up. 
   
   Slightly shocked, with a laugh Ellie restored the cigarette between her 
fingers to her lips. "Yeah, sounds smart, Mom." She nodded and hit on the 
B&H Menthol for an extra long time. "Let's not fight it anymore," she 
added, turning her head to release a picture-perfect mixed nose and mouth 
exhale for my benefit. "You just called me a smoker. I'm a smoker," she 
said dreamily, laughing. "Thanks for letting me be who I am. I'm a smoker," 
she repeated earnestly. 
   
   "I know," I whispered. "It's hard for me to admit, but yeah, I know." 
   
   "For months I've dreamed about this, Mom. I tried to follow the rules 
and not smoke except when you let me have my `treats.' I've wanted this to 
happen for so long!" She hesitated. "So, does this mean I can smoke like 
you now, whenever and however much I want?" 
   
   I was beaten and I knew it. But I still had to set some limits. "God, I 
don't know, Ellie. No, I don't think so. But I will let you have a few 
cigarettes of your own every day, I guess. Not an unlimited number, but 
I'll let you take it to the next level. However, you must smoke nowhere but 
here at home. Your dad will crucify us if he ever finds out I let you 
smoke. So we need to keep it secret. Understood?" 
   
   She hit on her cigarette. This one definitely was _her_ cigarette! It 
wasn't one she was just `borrowing' from me. No, it was all hers, and she 
clearly relished having it all to herself. 
   
   "Don't worry. No problem, Mom," she assured me. "I'll keep it secret 
from Dad somehow." She tipped her head and exhaled voluminously. "I'm gonna 
enjoy this. Thanks again." 
   
   "You're welcome," I groaned. It's funny, but I didn't mind admitting out 
loud that my 13 year old daughter had become a smoker. I suppose it 
should've bothered me, but it didn't. Ellie liked to smoke. She needed to. 
But God, how in hell would we keep it a secret? Mistakes happen. Eventually 
Jim would find out. What that meant, I didn't want to think about. Little 
did I know our problem was about to be solved by a most unlikely source. 

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