Under Her Wing, Part 2

Date: Tue, 11 Mar 1997 20:28:39 -0500 (EST)
From: an4@anon.lelnet.com
Newsgroups: alt.smokers.glamour
Subject: Under Her Wing, Part 2
Organization: Alt.smokers.glamour society
Approved: asg-sub@lelnet.com

   Debbie was sitting on the small balcony outside the room she was sharing
with Prissy. It was a perfect summer night, the light warm breeze
complimenting the heavy, moist air. She was sweating slightly but it felt
good. There was something relaxing about this place.
   She watched Ken strolling up the sidewalk towards the Inn. He was carrying
two pieces of soft luggage and a Powerbook case.
   The calm night air seemed to be having an opposite effect on him. He looked
vaguely nervous, even out of place.
   She remembered Ms. Tremblay's comments and wondered if he would really
consider himself lucky.
   He disappeared up the steps and Debbie began thinking about her conversation
with Sarah again. She was right. You had to have your own reasons for
starting to smoke. It wasn't something you did because it was expected or
because all your friends were doing it. So she began thinking about it.
   The mental imagery was- well, she found it vaguely exciting. She broke it
down into its individual steps. She imagined a brand new box of Marlboro
Lights 100s. The perfect symmetry of the box felt good in her hands. The
cellophane was slick but it came off easily. Cracking back the top of the box
and carefully unfolding the foil revealed the faint sweet smell of fresh
tobacco. Reaching in with thumb and forefinger she pulled a single cigarette
away from the rest. Like the box, its lines were pleasing.
   It felt right in her hands. Behind closed eyelids she saw herself
positioning the cigarette between the first and second fingers of her left
hand. In the right she held a black lighter.
   Debbie brought the cigarette to her lips, catching the very end of the tip
between them. She spun the wheel on the lighter tentatively and it didn't
catch. There was just a faint hiss and a click.
   Relaxing inside relaxation, Debbie thumbed the lighter again. This time it
caught, the flame searing the end of the cigarette, which began to burn. She
was able to inhale deeply, feeling the smoke slide over her tongue and down
into her lungs, where it blossomed warmly. For the first time in her life she
felt calmness as a physical sensation which flowed through her, reaching
fingers and toes.
   Pursing her lips into a small 'o', she exhaled. Smoke streamed from her
mouth, a milky stream which quickly broke in the light breeze, surrounding
her in a hazy cloud that had its own unique pleasing scent. The excitement
heightened, a warm, lightheaded feeling.
   She smoked the entire cigarette, experimenting with different techniques for
inhaling and exhaling, and when she was done she wrote a short note and
slipped it under Sarah's door. When she came back, Prissy was already in bed,
half-asleep, so Debbie went back out on the balcony to 'practise' some more.
   
   It was very hard, walking into the Wild Shadows. Although Ken had certainly
felt better after actually seeing Sarah. She was so-
   Well, average wasn't exactly the right word. She was too attractive for
that- even seen in the pinkish arc-sodium half-light.	But she was just
ordinary enough that most of his fear had dissipated by the time he walked
through the front door. It was late. He knew he'd missed dinner. The smells
of coffee and cigarette smoke had washed away the odors of that last meal.
   He walked in quietly, working on not trying to observe anything in
particular. He knew, after all, they were here. And that they weren't going
anywhere in the near future. No sense giving one's self away unnecessarily.
   The first room off the entry hall had been transformed from a sun room into
a small office. He walked in, noticing with a certain distaste that the
otherwise gorgeous redhead behind the desk was smoking a Marlboro Lights 100.
Her name was Gretchen Long. She was a nineteen year old college student at
UVM who was doing a summer apprenticeship on Ranford's town history. 
   If not for the cigarette she was holding in her right hand, Ken might have
been tempted to flirt with her. She looked up from the dusty old tome she was
studying and exhaled a dense cloud of rich, cloying smoke. It ballooned out
into the room like fog and he hesitated at the threshold until it began to
dissipate.
   "Are you Ken by any chance ?" she asked. Her voice was perfect- friendly,
even inviting, almost musical.
   Her smile was infuriating.
   How could anyone who was a smoker have such a wonderful smile ?
   "By some chance I am. I'm sorry to be checking in so late-"
   Gretchen paused to inhale. She did it entirely unselfconsciously,
comfortable in her habit. When she spoke, abbreviated wisps of smoke escaped
her mouth with each syllable. "It's not an hotel, Ken. We hang the keys by
the door. You don't need one unless you're planning to be out past midnight-
which is fine by us-"
   She finished the exhale, turning her head to the side for his benefit.	
   Ken admitted to himself that she was even striking in profile.
   Then she leaned forward, holding the cigarette out behind her with her wrist
bent jauntily. "-not that there's anything to do in Ranford after midnight."
   He wasn't sure whether the smile on his face was forced or had come easily.
He wanted to think that it was forced.
   "That's fine. I came here to relax, to get some work done."
   Gretchen's smile was certainly not of the forced variety. "What do you do ?"
    "I-" Here it was. The chance to truck out the half-truth and see how it
played. "I write grant proposals."
   "For what university ?" Gretchen asked, inhaling again one the half-smoked
cigarette. Her green eyes were so bright, her face so smooth-
   Ken decided he was just going to refuse to go there. Next he would start
thinking that she was the sort who could easily be persuaded to quit- as if
Martha Tremblay would ever hire someone like that- and....
   No, Ken had been down that road. 
   "I'm a freelancer. I write grants for anywhere between sixty and eighty
clients a year. Educational institutions, hospitals, major corporations."
   "You should give me your card. I think I'm going to need a major grant just
to get through college."
   He laughed. She smiled. Then she put her cigarette to her lips again- full,
pouty lips- and inhaled deeply.
   "Who's grant are your working on right now ?"
   "I can't say. Client confidentiality and all that."
   Ken took the pen Gretchen offered with her free hand and signed his name in
the guest book. When he was done, she handed him the key to his room, still
smiling. "Don't lose that. There's a five dollar charge."
   "I'll try not to-" he replied. "Five dollars- just might break me, you
know." They laughed again and Ken felt a sudden need to get away.
   Her smile really was maddening.

   Sarah looked at the note and smiled. It was time to get in the shower- and
hope the Inn had a big hot water heater. She decided to wait a few more
minutes and lit a cigarette to pass the time.
   Thinking about Debbie brought back memories. Of that first morning after her
mother had caught her smoking in the house. They were wonderful, scary
memories. The thought of the cameo almost washing down the drain....
   Her simple request read 'Please buy me a pack of Marlboro Lights 100s.
Debbie.' She'd slipped three dollars inside the note, which was written on
creamy 'From Vermont's Finest Bed and Breakfast' stationery.
   Sarah took a deep inhale and opened the door to her room just as Debbie
walked into the hallway.
   "Box or soft-pack ?" Sarah asked casually.
   "Box," Debbie said, and Sarah heard the nervousness in her voice. Of all
that had happened because of the cameo, the only thing Sarah regretted was
never knowing that delicious nervousness.

   Ken waited in his room until everyone else had left the Inn, feigning
sleeping late. By the time he got into the shower the water was luke warm at
best.	
   He wandered downstairs. While he really did a grant proposal to write, but
it would hardly take two weeks to do it. For the next few days he was on his
own, planning just to relax. Hopefully by dinner tonight he'd be ready to
start insinuating himself into the little group. Maybe by then, someone would
get around to telling him exactly why he was here.
   Gretchen was the only one left in the Inn.
   "Hey, sleepyhead," she said as he made the landing of the stairs. She was
carrying two cups of coffee to the table. She set one down at the head of the
table and one by a heaping plate of steaming eggs.
   The thought of overdue breakfast was impossible to resist.
   She sat down and immediately lit a long white cigarette. She inhaled deeply,
her round cheeks hollowing out, and she held the smoke a long time before
executing a stylish nose exhale. Ken gulped half his coffee and dug into the
eggs, reminding himself how repulsive the smell of tobacco smoke was. As well
as the fact that Gretchen was nine years younger than he was.
   "You don't mind if I smoke, do you ?" Gretchen asked, her voice almost
musical.
   "No, of course not," he half-lied.
   "So, what does a grant writer do with his first day in Vermont ?" she asked,
leaning forward as inhaled again, resting her chin on her free hand. her eyes
were so bright, so young-
   "Relax," he said, taking a renewed interest in his breakfast. Anywhere but
her eyes was a safe place to look. "I think I'll spend the morning finding out
 what Ranford has to offer."
   "Do you want a tour guide ?" she asked, her voice a bright noise.
   He thought no.
   He said yes.

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