Under Her Wing, Part 5

Article 1377 of alt.smokers.glamour:
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From: an4@anon.lelnet.com
Newsgroups: alt.smokers.glamour
Subject: Under her Wing, Part 5
Date: Sat, 22 Mar 1997 08:15:32 -0500 (EST)
Organization: Alt.smokers.glamour society
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Message-ID: <5h0u1v$s3d@tofu.alt.net>

   The end of dinner came and went and with it Ken felt his control slip a few
more notches.
   There was, of course, plenty of smoking after dinner. A visual smorgasbord
of pleasure. And Ken found himself unable to do anything more than give into
it. Although his tongue initially felt like a slab of poorly-treated road
kill, he soon found himself having a lively discussion with Brenda about the
merits of the Simpsons.
   "It's really the some of the most intriguing social satire on TV," Brenda
was saying, each word carried along on a small cloud of smoke.
   He could hear what she was saying, could in fact draw a suitable response
from that mushy organ formerly referred to as his brain, but what he was
really intent on was the space of time between the last inhale and the next.
Although he was sitting in what would have in the past been a foul cloud of
second-hand smoke he found himself thoroughly enjoying himself.
   Just as Brenda brought the still-long cigarette to her mouth and inhaled
sharply, her cheeks sinking around the bones until they were taunt, Gretchen
came through the swinging door to the kitchen and brushed him with her hand. 
   It was with some disappointment that he found that she was not smoking a
cigarette of her own.
   "You ready ?" she asked, and he nodded, not quite sure he was glad that he
was being rescued. He made his excuses to the table and stood up, glad that
he'd thought to wear a long sweater to dinner.
   "Isn't it a little hot for a cardigan ?" Gretchen asked as they walked
towards the door, which looked very much like an escape hatch to the very
dizzied Ken.
   Gretchen took one of the keys down and then paused. She worked her
cigarettes from her purse and lit one quickly, taking a deep and very
sensuous pull that made the receding bulge behind Ken's zipper jump
precipitously.
   It was impossible not to laugh at the question.

   Sarah was sitting out on the porch, relaxing. It was a lot of fun being here
at the Young Writer's Camp- it had in fact, rekindled her own dreams, long
buried, of writing. But it was also hard work. The girls were all good kids,
but there were moments when Sarah felt a little too much like an instant
parent.
   Of course, all she really had to do was round them up a few times a day,
make sure they were still breathing, and drive them places. Cooking and
cleaning and worrying about how to afford college were concerns thankfully in
other hands. Still, she didn't move very far away from thinking about them at
any point in the day, and part of her was the tiniest bit worried about
Debbie and her date.
   Tremblay ventured out onto the porch. Sarah tried to push down a feeling a
vague annoyance at the intrusion because it was silly. The other woman's warm
smile put her at ease quickly. Still, she was surprised when the older woman
took a seat next to her on the porch swing. Tremblay didn't seem the sort to
pass the evening hours staring out at the bland, peaceful streets of Ranford.
   "Do you know why Elisa gave you our phone number ?" she asked. Her tone was
neutral. There was a quality of searching to it, not unpleasant in spite of
the question being a little blunt.
   "Because you won't give me an hard time about giving under-age girls
cigarettes ?" 
   "Well," Tremblay answered with a smile, "there is that. But that's not the
real reason. I've known Elisa a long time. Very long. You could say that I
introduced her to our little club. She would have come herself, but you were
going to be up here and she's always so damn busy-"
   "I know," Sarah said. "She hasn't been home in a month. Book tour and all
that-"
   Tremblay laughed, and the laugh was just what Sarah would expect from a salt
of the earth woman. Throaty, half-knowing, a little sarcastic. "Those book
tours are great covers for other things. I'll be brief. I've been working on
something for the last year or so. It's pretty big stuff and I'm not done
with it, but I will be by the time you head out. You take it with you. I
don't know whether you'll work on it from there or not. That's up to her and
you."
   "What is it ?" 
   Again, Tremblay smiled, but it was a cold and predatory gesture. Sarah got
the idea that whatever it was, she'd be well-cautioned to take good care of
it. Mrs. Tremblay wasn't the sort of person you'd want to disappoint.
   "I'll let you read it. Let's just say that the people on the other side of
the fence aren't up to what you think they are for the reasons you think."
   "That's pretty vague-"
   "Yes it is."
   Tremblay stood up very carefully as not to upset the swing and walked inside
without another word.

   Do whatever it takes to insinuate yourself.
   Ken felt insinuated, but he knew that it was just passive. What he needed
was to start feeling around-
   Feeling around Tremblay, he amended.
   Gretchen's fake ID had done the job easily. They were sitting at a corner
table, working a pitcher of beer with the sort of slow ease which would have
marked them as longtime acquaintances to the casual observer. So far the
conversation had been easy- so easy. And there had been plenty to watch.
   The Hard Cider was like any other bar in any other small town in New
England, but for Ken it was the first time all over again because tonight the
place looked different. Smelled different.
   Was different.
   Of course, it was like any bar. Half the people here were smoking. In the
past Ken would have simply noted this fact with clinical distaste. They
taught you about the effects of alcohol on smoking, how the lowering of
inhibitions made smokers of plenty of otherwise normal people. Although
normal was the wrong word.
   Ken had been very pleased to see that there was, as with most bars, a candle
on the table. A big fat odorless blob of wax in an open-faced bowl. Gretchen
was using it right now to light her cigarette and found watching that
infinitely preferable to when she used a lighter. As she put her face close
to the candle the light made the soft, young skin shine- made it glow almost
the way that Sarah's had earlier. She held the cigarette in her mouth without
using her hands and he had a feeling that sometimes a cigarette was not just
a cigarette, at least in his own mind.
   She was by far the woman he would have watched had he been forcedto make a
singular choice.
   But no such choice was necessary. Tall and short, all the colours of the
rainbow- it was all here in the crowded bar. Women with long slim cigarettes
and other with short, stronger brands. Patient smokers and those who were
hurried and frantic. All of them with smiles on their faces. All willing to
provide him with something that twenty-four hours ago, he would have spurned.
   Gretchen was pouring herself another glass of beer and Ken found himself
thinking back to a fantasy he'd had this afternoon.
   He'd make a crack about this being their first date and she'd respond that
this couldn't be a date. She took a long, cheek pulling inhale like the one
the real Gretchen was in the middle of right now and told him that- and she
used the word sadly- this couldn't be a date because she only dated men who
smoked.
   In the fantasy he looked at her and decided to ask her-
   Reality intruded. She was looking at him strangely.
   "You're a million miles away, Ken."
   "I was just wondering," he said, and surprised himself by getting back to
his job, "how much you know about Mrs. Tremblay."
   "It's Ms. now, I think, not that she'd waste her breath correcting you. A
lot. Some things I can tell you, some I can't." The mischievousness in her
voice was almost as wicked as the way she waved her cigarette casually as she
talked. He was amased that they'd let her in. Her ID said that she was
twenty-three, not nineteen, but she looked sixteen right now with her long,
luxurous hair pulled back. Just the right age to be sneaking out of the house
on Friday night because her parents didn't know she smoked yet.
   Although he knew from her history that had never been her problem. He
thought about what it would have been like to know her then, to see her
sitting on the small-town porch of her house, smoking peacefully on a warm
summer night, wearing some football player's letter jacket, her hair in a
ponytail-
   The looser jeans he'd bought this afternoon were not quite loose enough to
make processing that image any easy act.
   "Tell me something you think I can know," he said, allowing to himself that
this would take time. Time he seriously doubted he had.
   "She's a really great person. She comes off a little brusque sometimes, but
she's not the person you'd think to take a look at her. She doesn't clip
coupons or watch soap operas or think the government is hatching some
conspiracy to take away all our freedoms."
   "I think," Ken said, feeling his boat slipping into the shallows, "that
maintaining a conspiracy is too complicated a task for the good old US
government. That sort of thing is best left to the private sector. Bill
Gates, for example-"
   Gretchen laughed. "You say some strange things. But I'll tell you what she
said about you, if you ask me very nicely."
   Her smile was so warm, and even though she followed it with a stunning,
painful to watch nose exhale, he no longer saw it as the alien smile of a
smoker. She was just an incredibly attractive woman whose only shortcoming
wasn't her habit but her age. He found it easier to forget a far-off old
secret oath than the vagaries of the calendar.
   At once he hoped that he was completely misreading and completely
understanding what lay behind her superb smile. He had to know, so he did the
thing that would tell him. He joined the flirtation, taking her free hand
between his and giving it the sort of pressure she couldn't hope to
misunderstand. 
   He only wished he knew how he wanted this to work out.
   "Please," he asked, begging playfully.
   "She said that she thought it would be good for you to date me. Don't ask me
what that  means, but that's what she said."
   "Is this a date ?" he asked, sliding down into the fantasy in real-time.
   She extracted her hand from his and he felt panic. But he left his hands
there and she took the top one in hers and squeezed so gently that the touch
of her skin was maddening. She then exhaled a perfect cloud of wispy smoke
which drifted lazily, first between them and then towards the ceiling, where
it hung like a screen of private pleasure.
   "I-"
   She was embarrassed. What the hell was that ? That wasn't any of the
reactions he'd expected. He expected her to be silly- and say yes- or
pragmatic, and point out the gulf of years between them. Although a girl who
started smoking at fifteen must be an more of an adult than some nineteen
year olds.
   Is that all I can think about, even now ?
   "I have a rule-"
   Her hand remained where it was. "You don't date men twice your age, right ?"
   She slapped his hand. "Don't be silly," she said playfully, her smile
returning. She turned her head to the side, brought her cigarette to her
mouth and the only thing Ken could think of was that she was making love to
it.
   Instead of him.
   She turned her head up and exhaled through puckered lips, coating them in
more smoke. "You're nowhere near twice my age."
   Ken decided he loved that smell, that he would definitely be spending more
time in bars in the future.
   "I only date men who smoke, Ken. I know how stupid that must sound, but-"
   "It doesn't sound stupid at all," Ken said, and he understood only too well
the old saw about getting what you wished for. But her response did one
thing- it washed away the shame he'd felt clinging to his fantasy like a
second skin.
   "Please tell me you're hiding something about yourself," she said, forcing a
smile that was all nerves.
   He answered, feeling his feet take hold of the narrow ground.
   "Please tell me you have some experience as a teacher-"
   

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