Under Her Wing, Part 4

Article 1372 of alt.smokers.glamour:
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From: an4@anon.lelnet.com
Newsgroups: alt.smokers.glamour
Subject: Under Her Wing, Part 4
Date: Sat, 22 Mar 1997 08:15:24 -0500 (EST)
Organization: Alt.smokers.glamour society
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Message-ID: <5h0u06$s1e@tofu.alt.net>

   Sarah sat at the end of the table and watched Debbie with no small amount of
fascination.
   Just this morning she'd handed the girl her first pack of cigarettes.
Watching her now that just didn't seem possible. She smoked with the avid
zeal of a long-time smoker, inhaling deeply but without effort, carrying on
everyday conversation and looking almost totally uninhibited.
   She seemed to be struggling a little with exactly how to hold but that was
certainly to be expected.
   Still, Sarah was certainly curious.
   When Debbie, looking more than a little embarrassed, announced to everyone
that she had a date, Sarah stood up and walked slowly over to the door. She
took one of the keys down from the peg and waited for her charge to make her
way to the exit.
   "What's up, Sarah ?" Debbie asked, the glow of embarrassment still fresh on
her face.
   Sarah handed over the key. "Why don't you take this with you- just in case."
   The girl hesitated before accepting the key. "I'm only going out for pizza."
   "I was your age once, Debbie." 
   Sarah opened the front door and the pair stepped out onto the porch, out
into yet another perfect Vermont summer night. There was something about this
place- the word idyllic seemed to match it well. It was easy to relax here.
Perhaps too easy. Sarah remembered a line from Elisa's latest novel.
Simplicity is a lie.
   "Tell me something, Debbie-"
   The girl had paused to light a cigarette and Sarah noticed the pack was half
gone. 
   Smoke trailed from Debbie's mouth, a slow, sensuous exhale that would, if
Sarah guessed correctly, drive her 'date' wild. "Sure."
   "How did- well, I would never guess that you had just started smoking
today..."
   In the distance a cat howled, followed sharply by the harsh repetitive
barking of small dog. The sounds of strife cut an edge of normality into the
place. There was the unmistakable bustle of an animal breaking through bushes
a few houses down and then the panicked cat slashed through moonlight down on
the sidewalk, followed hard by the dog, who ran a few metres past only to
stop suddenly and begin scratching at its neck, digging under its collar
where fleas had probably taken up temporary housing.
   The dog followed Sarah's stare, met her eyes briefly, and then went back to
work ridding itself of its unwanted guests.
   "You're going to think that this is silly," Debbie said, her smile making an
uncomfortable fit to her face.
   "Try me," Sarah replied.
   "Mental imagery. When I asked you about it last night I didn't tell you the
truth. That I've been thinking about starting for a long time. Almost a year.
Sometimes I- I used to imagine what it would be like. You know, close my eyes
and relax and just think my way through the whole process. I've really been
wanting to do it."
   "Why ?" Sarah asked, not at all sure why she needed to know.
   The girl's discomfort seemed to grow. She took a hasty pull on the
cigarette, as if hoping it would provide relief. Her feet squirmed over one
another and her exhale was sudden, brief, and explosive in nature. But still
worth watching.
   "Because of you."	
   "What ?" Sarah asked, confused. Until yesterday, they'd never once talked
about smoking. The response seemed almost bizarre.
   "Well-" Debbie paused, inhaled again, her lips tightening down on the
cigarette. There was no sound to the inhale except the sharper burning at the
tip. She held it a long time and finished with a nose exhale, split into two
distinct, uneven phases. Smoke swirled around then, that pleasant smell that
Sarah still enjoyed almost as much as smoking itself.
   It was enough to make her fish her own pack out of her skirt pocket and
quickly light up while Debbie was composing her answer.
   "Well, a lot of people I know smoke. But watching you do it is different
somehow. You seem to get something out of it most people don't."
   "I wasn't aware that you really ever saw me smoke, Debbie."
   Both women paused for patient deep inhales. Their exhales mingled in the air
between them, two women smoking together who felt no need to turn their heads
away from one another to obey polite conventions or political correctness.
   "Sometimes I'd walk down to the lounge with Prissy. You probably never
noticed. I'd stand outside the door, pretending to tie my shoes or hunt
through my backpack for something. And watch you. I can't explain why. But
the way you smoke is different. I mean, I've always watched my mom smoke and
there's something mechanical about it, like she only half-notices what she's
doing. But you- this is embarrassing-"
   To which one of us ?  Sarah wondered. She was happy for Debbie that she'd
decided to start smoking, yet she felt vaguely uncomfortable about it. For
several reasons.
   "It's not-" Debbie paused, took one final spectacular inhale on the
shrinking cigarette before placing it in the sand bucket by her feet, and
spoke as she exhaled, her voice murky behind the plume of smoke. 
   She's definitely going to need that key.
   "It's not sexual-" she stammered, and then added "-not there is anything
wrong with that-" She paused again and Sarah sighed mentally. When had
society reached a point where even the vaguest mention of alternate sexuality
had to be appended with that Seinfeld line ? Of course there was nothing
wrong with that.
   "-but it is," Debbie added, surprising her teacher just a little. "Not an
attraction as much as, well, wanting to feel the way you look when you smoke.
Did you know that you- you glow when you smoke ?"
   It was something Sarah had never considered. She knew she was an attractive
smoker, but glowing ?
   She inhaled, holding the smoke in her mouth a moment so that she could taste
it completely before allowing it to slide down her throat. She then inhaled a
noseful of the cool, ultra-clean night air before exhaling in that same slow
way as Debbie had done earlier.
   "You mean like radioactive, glow-in-the dark ?"
   "No, I mean like your face just- you look like- oh god, this is so
 embarrassing..."
   "I think," Sarah said, deciding to let the girl off the hook for now, "That
I know what you mean. You're going to be late for your date. Look, sometime
between now and when we leave, I'll tell you a little story that might
explain that."
   There was an awkward pause, during which Sarah smoked and Debbie watched.
   Maybe she was right, Sarah thought. Maybe there is something that I've
gotten so used to, I can't see it.
   "I'm glad we talked," Debbie said, and then she was gone. Sarah made a
mental note to herself to get the girl more cigarettes. At the rate she was
going, she'd need a carton to get through the next twelve days.

   Ken's nervousness about making his initial appearance at the communal dinner
table was sharply enhanced by the email he'd received just fifteen minutes
earlier. It had been brief, to the point, and utterly surprising. He was not,
it seemed here for anything to do with Sarah or the girls in her charge.
Tremblay- or rather some information Tremblay had stored on her computer- was
the focus of his attention now.
   'Do whatever it takes to insinuate yourself,' the email had read.
   As he sat down Gretchen came into the room, carrying a steaming bowl of fresh
ly mashed potatoes. The smile she flashed him was so electric that he doubted
he needed to do much more to insinuate himself.
   Just as bothersome as the effect that smile had on his anatomy was the
collage of thoughts that seemed to pollute his mind as he sat down.
   Half a day with Gretchen had unlocked an horrifying and utterly unexpected
realisation.
   As he settled into his seat at the foot of the table his mind drifted back
lasily to this afternoon. Gretchen, long white cigarette in her mouth,
leaning over the candle to catch a light. The way her breasts heaved as she
inhaled, the look of joy on her face. The elegance with which she removed the
cigarette from her mouth and swung it under the table for his benefit. The
milky white smoke trailing from her mouth and nose, seductive wisps of some
alien pleasure that he had always assumed was nothing short of disgusting.
   They were all finishing up their last cigarettes before the meal. Helen and
Marta were watching one another smoke, enjoying both the act and the
interaction.
   Prissy, who looked old enough to be Gretchen's classmate, her smoking as
patiently realised as her constant studying.
   Susan had given up last night's seat for his benefit and was sitting next to
Sarah, passing up her usual anger to argue- sedately for her- some point
about grammar with her teacher, while Brenda watched bemusedly.
   It would not be an exaggeration to say that Sarah was glowing. What he'd
seen last night he'd passed off as an odd effect of the street lamps, but
there was no question. The cigarette in her hand was an extension of some
internal joy which flooded her face with a sheen that was akin to visible
emotive energy.	
   She was not as attractive as Gretchen-
   Ken forced these thoughts down, fear his last means of defence. 
   What am I doing ?
    He knew the answer. It came to him as he sensed his disappointment. That
emotion was brought on by the general extinguishing of all those cigarettes.
Around the table hands went to ashtrays, some of the cigarettes stubbed out
little more than half-smoked. A voice deep down inside him saw this as a
colossal waste, and that voice had a name. 
   Trouble. He was neck deep in something that felt vague sickening.
   There would be relief when the meal was over. When all these women- they
were women because girls didn't smoke- lit there after-meal cigarettes and he
would again be afforded the opportunity to watch.	
   Why had they sent him here now ?
   But he knew the answer to that. Tremblay had something. She was destined to
pass it on to someone who would write about it. Maybe someone at this table.
Or maybe it would pass from Sarah to Elisa.
   Unless he did his job.
   As Gretchen passed by him, brushing unnecessarily- and welcomely- close, the
smell of smoke clinging to her like a second skin, he touched her elbow. She
bent close and her hair, smoky wisps of wavy red, touched his shoulder and
arm, creating a cascade of gooseflesh.
   "Do you have any plans later ?" he asked, feeling very much as though being
alone with her was a lesser evil to sitting in this room and giving himself
over to something so utterly base.
   "Actually I was wondering if you wanted to watch me test out my fake ID,"
she answered, her voice low and sultry, pitched so that only he could hear
it.
   "I couldn't say no if I wanted to," he answered with a smile.

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