Anne's Choice, Part 2

ANNE'S CHOICE
by Richad
 
Chapter 2
 
The relationship between Anne and Martin had developed quickly.  Martin could
scarcely believe his luck.  Although he had initially been attracted to Anne
by her sexy looks, he had soon discovered that she was also very amusing and
highly intelligent.  It was not much longer before he also discovered that
she had energetic and demanding sexual appetites which were a good match for
his own.  All in all, it seemed to him that he had found the perfect woman -
except for one thing.  He wished that she didn't smoke.  He consoled himself
with the thought that, as she had said on the first evening, she seemed to be
only a "social smoker": at least, so far as he could tell, she did not
usually smoke more than four or five cigarettes each day.   Martin had never
dated a smoker before, and he was interested to notice that even a social
smoker's apartment smelled strongly of smoke.  He assumed, correctly, that
the burnt, sour taste which he often noticed when he kissed Anne was the
result of the tar left in her lungs by the smoke of her cigarettes.  Rather
to his surprise, he did not find this taste as unpleasant as he might have
expected, perhaps because as time went on he came sub-consciously to
associate it with Anne.
 
Anne, meanwhile, was spending a fortune on air freshener and extra-strong
mints, in an effort to maintain her image as a "social smoker".  During the
week, she did not have to make much alteration to her smoking patterns.  The
publishing office in which she worked had an area set aside at one end of the
building for those employees (all women) who smoked, and Anne had her desk
there.  Evenings and weekends, however, became much more complicated.
Although on the whole she did not smoke any less than before, she found
herself having to make the most of opportunities as they presented
themselves.  She fell into a routine of chain smoking several cigarettes (a
habit which she never previously had) while putting on her make-up in the
evening, just in case she later found herself unable to smoke for a while.
 
When Martin visited her apartment she would pretend to be absent-minded about
her shopping, always "forgetting" an item such as coffee or milk, which she
would then go out alone to buy.  There had been an awkward moment during his
first visit when he commented on the presence of ashtrays in her bedroom and
bathroom.  After that narrow escape she took care to keep most of her
ashtrays and all of her spare packs well out of his sight.  Hardest of all
were the occasions when Martin stayed overnight.  For some years Anne had
been in the habit of lighting her first cigarette as soon as she got out of
bed (and sometimes before), and she found it hard to endure her morning
cravings until she could find an excuse to be alone.  She was growing tired
of the deception, and had begun to wonder how she might find a way of telling
Martin the truth when the matter was taken out of her hands.
 
 
*     *     *
 
 
One day Martin called Anne to say: "I was thinking of visiting my parents
next weekend - would you like to come?"
 
"Didn't you tell me that they had retired and moved to live in Spain?" Anne
asked.
 
"Yes, that's right.  We could fly out on Friday afternoon and come back on
Sunday evening, if you want."
 
And so next Friday they drove to the airport, checked in and made their way
to the departure gate.  Anne was sitting wondering whether she had time for a
cigarette when Martin turned to her and said: "Oh, there's one thing I meant
to tell you: my parents are very anti-smoking.  I hope you won't mind not
smoking while we're visiting them."
 
This was unwelcome news.  Anne's need for a cigarette had suddenly become
urgent, and she excused herself on the pretext of visiting the ladies' room.
Instead, she located the nearest smoking area, opened the fresh pack of
Marlboros in her bag and lit up, breathing thick streams of smoke out through
her nose and mouth as she contemplated the unhappy prospect ahead.  Having
smoked her cigarette quickly, she lit another while she took out her make-up
bag to fix her lipstick and mascara before the flight.  She was still putting
the last touches to her mascara when, to her alarm, she heard a voice
announcing the final call for their flight.  Grabbing her bag, she ran back
to the departure gate where Martin was waiting anxiously for her.
 
"Where have you been?" he said, agitatedly.
 
"Sorry," Anne replied, breathlessly, "I didn't hear the boarding
announcement."  Only when she was on the plane did it dawn on her that she
had left her cigarettes on the table in the smoking area.  How stupid of me,
she thought, and for once I don't have a spare pack in my bag.  I'll just
have to buy some when we get to Spain.
 
But Martin's father met them in the arrivals hall and led them straight to
his car, giving Anne no opportunity to visit a cigarette counter.  It turned
out that Martin's parents' house was situated in a modern residential
development in pseudo-Spanish style, inhabited mainly by retired expatriates
from northern Europe, on a barren stretch of Mediterranean coast several
miles from the nearest town.  Anne disliked it on sight.  Her dislike turned
to dismay when she discovered that there were no shops or bars in the
development, and that the nearest likely source of cigarettes was in a town
almost five miles away.  It was going to be a very long weekend.
 
Next day Martin and his parents seemed content to lie and sunbathe all day by
the swimming pool.  Normally, this would have suited Anne very well but her
craving for a cigarette made it impossible to relax.  By lunch time she was
becoming tense and irritable, and by late afternoon her whole body seemed to
be screaming at her for its nicotine supply.  When Martin's mother announced
that she intended to cook them all a meal at home again that night, Anne
could stand it no longer.
 
"Martin", she said to him, quietly, "I would like you to take me out to
dinner tonight, please.  Just the two of us." 
 
Something in her tone of voice made Martin realise that this request was not
negotiable.  His parents did not appear to mind, and in the evening Martin's
father drove them to the nearby town.  Anne was relieved to find that it was
a "real" Spanish town, whose centre was a pleasant tree-shaded plaza
surrounded by lively bars and restaurants.  They entered one of the
restaurants and were shown to the (non-smoking) table which had been reserved
for them.  They sat down and Martin said, brightly: "So, is everything okay?"
 
Anne exploded at last.  "Okay?" she shouted.  "You bring me to this
god-forsaken corner of Spain, you dump me in a geriatric wasteland alone with
your parents, and you ask me if everything is okay?  Jesus Christ!"  And with
that she got up and stormed out, leaving Martin staring after her in
bewilderment.
 
Anne strode into the bar next door where, to her relief, she spotted a
cigarette vending machine in a corner.  She hurried over to it, to discover
that the only brand which she recognised - Marlboro - was sold out.
Selecting what she hoped was a strong Spanish brand, she bought a pack,
opened it and requested a light from one of the men in the bar, who was happy
to oblige.  She walked out into the plaza, inhaling deeply.  The Spanish
cigarette was indeed pleasantly strong, with an aroma which reminded her of
the cafés which lined the square.  The nicotine took effect and she quickly
calmed down.  She knew that she had been unfair to Martin, and already she
was regretting what she had said.  In a sense, she admitted to herself, this
was all her fault because she had not been frank with him from the start.
 
By the time she had strolled to the other side of the plaza she had almost
finished her cigarette.  As she still had no lighter, she used the end of it
to light another, before beginning to walk slowly back towards the
restaurant.
 
When she re-entered, Martin was still sitting at the table, looking up at her
apprehensively.
 
"I'm sorry," he said.  "I didn't realise-"
 
"Don't worry about it", Anne interrupted him.  "It's my fault, not yours."
She smiled, leaned over and kissed him, aware that she must reek of Spanish
cigarette smoke.
 
"Look", she said, "there's something I want to tell you, that I haven't been
totally honest with you about.  But before I do, could we please move to one
of those tables over there?"

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