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Article 484 of alt.smokers.glamour:
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From: an4@anon.lelnet.com
Newsgroups: alt.smokers.glamour
Subject: The Cameo, part 6
Date: 22 Jan 1997 17:13:45 GMT
Organization: Msen
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Sarah handed the cameo to Kristen. "Go ahead, put it on and I'll tell you a
story."
"Why-"
"Trust me, this is worth it. Put it on, light a cigarette, and then I'll
tell you something so fantastic, you'll probably turn it into a best-seller."
She could see the skepticism on Kristen's face. Sarah had been practising
smoking with the cameo off, and as she lit a new cigarette herself, she found
the change was almost imperceptible. Perhaps that was what Mom had known all
along.
The cigarette still tasted wonderful, but it was not exactly the same.
"It's just a loan," Sarah said, seeing her friend's continued hesitancy.
Kristen did as she was told, and then lit a cigarette from a fresh pack.
The look on her face told Sarah what she needed to know. For a long while,
she didn't say anything. Instead she watched Kristen smoke. Her inhales were
more hungry, her exhales more furious. The usual smile on her face was
magnified. By the time she was halfway through her cigarette, she was in
Nirvana.
"Do you believe in magic ?"
"I know you don't," Kristen said.
"Well, maybe not in general."
She told her story. Her impossible story. Trying not to be jealous of the
look on Kristen's face. It was unbelievable and impossible not to believe at
the same time. And she saw that Kristen believed. There was no way not to,
not wearing the cameo.
"I can't believe you'd let this out of your sight," Kristen finally said
when Sarah finished telling her tale. "But how is my enjoying smoking even
more going to solve my problem with Brendan ?"
"Well, you have to find some way to get him to wear it."
Kristen lit another cigarette. There was a certain unusual impatience in the
way that she did it. But she still looked-
It was impossible that Brendan didn't find the elegant way she smoked
attractive. Sarah watched her friend perform a textbook french inhale. The
look on her face was so openly sensual. Sarah saw that they'd attracted the
attention of several men, all of whom were at least polite enough not to
stare too openly.
"How am I going to get him to wear an antique cameo. I mean, there's no
question this is woman's jewelry."
"You're the creative genius. What about telling him-"
"The truth ? No way. If I told him what this thing really did, he'd want to
drop into a live volcano. He's turned into a real fascist about the whole
smoking issue. You know that I have to get up and leave the bedroom to smoke
a cigarette after sex ?"
That was something Kristen definitely had not shared up to this point.
"In your own house ?"
"Yes. That's why I never stay over at his place. I can't believe he had the
nerve to even hold that cigar the first night. But you know, I really like
him. If it wasn't for this one thing-"
"Just try it-" Sarah said, still finding it hard to believe that she was
begging her friend to take her prized possession from her.
Kristen reached across the table and squeezed Sarah's hand as her friend
drained her sixth beer. "This means a lot to me. Which is why I'm glad I'm
driving you home tonight."
Brendan was agonising over whether his sweater really matched his khaki
pants. Tonight, everything had to be perfect. Tonight was the night that
Kristen was going to hand over the cameo.
He looked on the dresser at the plane tickets. The day after tomorrow, he'd
been flying to Phoenix. With a stopover in Chicago. The cameo would be placed
in safe hands, first studied and then destroyed. By that night, he'd been
working his way into the heart of one Janice Dellamaire, who was the proud
possessor of an ancient silver bracelet which had attracted the attention of
the right people.
It would give him time to stop by the jewelry shop and thank Helena Cross,
who'd tipped them off to the cameo last summer. He'd bought Helena a year's
supply of Nicorette gum. It was an old joke. Of course, she wouldn't use it.
They needed her- needed her to be, if reluctantly- one of them.
She'd jokingly ask if there was any chance that he'd sell her the cameo. It
would fall flat, that joke. She couldn't help it. She was still just another
nicotine addict, regardless of her fortunate politics. He would smile and say
he'd consider it, but they would both understand she was the last person who
could afford to come into contact with it.
Kristen walked into Richter's, practising what she was going to say. She had
a plan, one which would get the cameo around his neck.
I want to buy you a chain I've had my eye on. The same size as this silver
one.
The lie would work. He would try it on, and then the fact that he was
wearing an odd piece of woman's jewelry would matter no more than the fact
that he was vehemently opposed to the whole institution of smoking.
She wasn't going to waste his time with her cigarettes. No, she'd bought him
the finest cigar she'd been able to find.
Bought a whole box, in fact. She and Kristen had shared one last night, and
the effect had been almost unbearable. They'd taken turns holding the cameo
while puffing on that cigar and both of them agreed that Brendan would be
taken in quickly. They'd done it the old fashioned way, sipping brandy and
blowing the smoke into the glass, creating the most dreamy scent in the
world, and there'd been no doubt in their mind it was going to work.
Kristen had made sure to get to the bar early. She wanted one last chance to
enjoy this magic for herself. She had no idea that Brendan had his escape
planned, that her secret was anything but secret to him.
Kristen had it all worked out, and a slow smile crept over her face as he
walked into the bar, looking vaguely annoyed by the lit cigarette in her
hand. The looked darkened as she took a deep inhale. He was a swelling storm
cloud of anti-smoking anger, and she would never have imagined that he was
just playing a part in a game.
The cameo felt warm in her hand. Almost hot. As he sat down she took another
spectacular inhale and let her hand fall open.
The shock of what she saw was almost enough to knock all her well-laid plans
askew.
The cameo was gone. In its place was a man's ring, white gold, another
antique, but utterly unlike the cameo. Yet the magic was still there,
although it seemed to have a different flavour.
Kristen understood, and she didn't. But getting him to try on a man's ring
would be that much easier.
Sarah was back at Le Grande Cafe with mom, trying to work up the nerve to
ask about the cameo.
The waiter came to the table, skillfully sidestepping Mom's Powerbook, which
had fallen on its side by her chair. He uncorked their wine with a casual
motion, presenting the cork to Sarah, who actually felt comfortable selecting
wine these days. After a nod, he poured her just enough to taste it. Mom was
watching with wry amusement.
The selection approved, two glasses were poured, after which Pierre slid
away like a ghost.
Once they had lit their cigarettes, Sarah found her nerve.
"Why didn't you tell me about the cameo, Mom ?"
She half-expected Mom to counter with a 'Whatever do you mean ?' sort of
response.
"The same reason I never talk about the divorce, honey."
"Which do you want to start with ?" Sarah asked. Mom didn't smile. She had
the look of someone who'd been ambushed. "I've been thinking about it quite a
bit lately. Remember that night you came home and found me sitting in the
living room, smoking ? You- it was like you were pretending to be surprised."
"It worked pretty well- it took you eight years to start asking these
questions."
For a while after that, all they did was put on one of the all-time
spectacular shows. It was a mother-daughter exhibition of how smoking should
be done. Everything from the holds to the exhales were stunning. Sarah saw
the attention they were getting and for a moment that was enough. Finally
though, the curiosity overwhelmed the simple pleasures of fine wine and
cigarettes and that was when her mother started to explain it all.
"I don't know how they got to your father-"
"They ?" Sarah asked, little knowing what she was about to learn.
"Yes, they. People like this don't take a name. Names give you an identity,
and an identity is something that can be used against you. They will do in
this case. It all comes back to one thing. When it comes down to information
systems, no one knows more than your father. But when it comes to common
sense-"
There was another pause. Cigarettes were lit, and Sarah discovered that she
was doing just fine without the cameo. She still wanted it back, but somehow
she imagined she would get through the next few days.
"Your dad was never more than a casual smoker. He'd share the occasional
cigarette with me, and once in a while I could get him to smoke a cigar. I
loved that smell. I knew someone who could get me cubans. I still miss that.
But he was never really- never into it."
Sarah couldn't imagine where this was going. The appetizers came and they
finished their cigarettes without hurrying as Mom continued. "It was after
eleven one night. You were just nine back then- this was just about two weeks
before he moved out. I'll never forget. You know, there wasn't anything like
what you know as the internet back then. But there was a world wide web.
Strictly computer nerds like your dad and I. He'd gone to bed- you remember,
at eleven he turned into the incredible sleeping lump. Well, that night he'd
forgotten to turn off the computer. I was going to call your grandmother. He
and I- well, we hadn't been getting along as well and your grandmother is-"
"Easy to talk to," Sarah finished.
"Exactly. But Dad had left the computer on. He was dialed into work. I
picked the phone up and there was all that modem noise, so I went into the
study to shut it down. He'd turned the monitor off and forgotten the old IIe
was on. I turned it back on, and- well, I think the marriage ended right
then."
"He knew all about the cameo. And he wasn't the only one. He'd left
something open. This- I guess you'd call it a site."
She paused, considered taking a bite of her crab cake, stopped. There was
pain on her face. "He was going to take the cameo away. Sell it to someone.
To them. How they found out about it I'll never know. But there it was, in
green. Who he was supposed to meet, what would happen. How he'd explain
himself."
"Mom, this isn't making any sense-"
"I know. I printed out about fifty pages of stuff that night, and when we go
home I'll let you read it because it explains it all better than I ever
could. Let's just say that as unique as that cameo is, it isn't. There are
hundreds, even thousands, of things like it out there. Necklaces and
bracelets and antique watches. Cigar cutters and eyeglasses."
"And you never told me ?"
"I didn't want you to go through what I did. After your Dad and I divorced-
well, how could I trust anyone ? I didn't want you to go through that. You
can't imagine what it's like to suspect every man, every new friend-"
Although this was just a barebones thumbnail sketch, Sarah thought maybe she
did understand.
"Where is the cameo ?" Mom asked, noticing her daughter's neck was bare.
Sarah told her story about Kristen, somewhat surprised at the panic that
crept onto her mother's face.
She opened up the powerbook and attached her cellular phone to it.
"What's his name, Sarah ?"
There was such an urgency to the way her mother was doing all this that any
last lingering doubts about what was happening were dispelled. "Brendan
Warden, I think."
There was silence at the table, punctuated only by smoking and the low noise
of the modem connection. less than a minute later Sarah was looking at
something unbelievable.
His real name wasn't Warden. That was listed under aliases along with about
a dozen others. No real last name or address was given. Just a contact
number. She read down through the file and saw that he was booked on a midday
flight the day after tomorrow. Phoenix via Chicago.
"If there's one thing I still love about your father it's that he never
changes his passwords. We have to try and catch them while their still at
Richter's. If he leaves, you'll never see him again."
They got up so hastily that Marcel, the manager, came practically running
over to the table, looking thoroughly disturbed.
"Is there something wrong ?" he asked in his thick french accent. "I know
the service is a bit slow tonight-"
"God no, Marcel. We don't come here for Burger King service. It's a family
emergency-" She produced an hundred dollar bill which Marcel briefly
pretended to reject, after which he nodded his head sagely and snapped his
fingers twice. By the time they got to the door their coats were ready and
one of the waiters was holding an unopened bottle of the same wine they'd
been drinking.
As they walked out the door Mom said "I hope we don't need this before the
night is through..."
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