Anne picked up the cigarette which was smouldering on the ashtray on her
dressing table and placed it gently between her lips. She inhaled and blew a
plume of smoke towards her reflection in the mirror. Replacing her
cigarette, she returned to the task of putting on her make up in preparation
for the evening ahead. As always, she took great care over making herself
up; she had recently been promoted to the post of cosmetics editor for a
women’s magazine (not a bad job at the age of 29) and she felt that she ought
to look the part. Blusher, eye shadow, eye liner, and mascara were all
meticulously applied. Before starting to put on her lipstick she returned to
her cigarette, which had now burned almost to the filter. After one last
drag she crushed it out and glanced up at the clock. Martin’s taxi would be
arriving in a few minutes. She took another cigarette from the red and white
pack which lay open on her dressing table, lit it and inhaled before placing
it on the ashtray. As she applied her lipstick, her thoughts wandered back
to their first date, already more than three weeks ago.
* * *
They had met at a health and fitness club near where Anne lived in south west
London, and where she attended dance classes on two evenings each week.
After her classes she sometimes stopped off in the club café for a cold
drink. On one of these occasions she chatted for a while to a tall, good
looking man, perhaps a couple of years older than herself, whom she had
noticed doing weight training in the gym. She was pleased to discover on her
next visit that the man, whose name was Martin, was again in the café, and
they had another drink together.
It was no coincidence that Martin was there again. He had noticed the slim,
attractive woman with beautiful eyes and long dark hair in the dance class.
Martin was immediately struck by how hot she looked in comparison to the
other women who frequented the health club, and he did his best to ensure
that he was around the café each evening when her classes finished. He
looked forward to their meetings but, to his disappointment, Anne always
excused herself and left after only a few minutes. Martin wondered why she
seemed in such a hurry to leave, and hoped that it did not betray a lack of
interest in him.
The truth was that after an hour and a half in the club, Anne was in urgent
need of a cigarette. As soon as she had driven her car out of the club car
park, Anne would retrieve her Marlboros from the glove compartment and light
up her post-exercise cigarette: always one of the most enjoyable of the day.
It didn’t seem right, somehow, to admit to Martin that, however pleasant his
company might be, her need for nicotine was a much more compelling
attraction.
After two or three more brief chats in the health club café, Martin asked
Anne for a date, and she readily accepted. They arranged to meet for a drink
and a meal in a nearby inn with low ceilings and wooden beams, before going
on to the cinema. When Anne arrived, Martin was waiting for her at the bar.
She looked strikingly beautiful in a short red and black dress and black
stiletto heels, her dark hair tied back and her make-up professionally
applied, as always. Having ordered a drink, she sat down beside him at the
bar and, opening her bag, she said in as casual a manner as she could manage:
“Oh, by the way, you don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”
Martin’s reaction was worse than she had feared.
“What!” he said, astonished, “You smoke?”
“Well, yes,” Anne hesitated, an unlit cigarette in her hand. “I do. I’m
sorry – does it annoy you?”
“Well, I- I mean, no, not really,” Martin replied, confused. “That’s to
say, I’m not bothered by the smell, or anything like that. It’s just that,
well, I didn’t expect- I mean, you don’t look like- No, go ahead, if you
want to.”
Anne lit her cigarette and turned away to exhale a long plume of smoke.
Martin watched her, transfixed.
“Have you- er- smoked for a long time?”
Anne laughed and blew out another cloud of smoke. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I
started when I was fourteen. All the girls smoked. You had to, to be one of
the crowd. I’d been smoking for more than four years before I left school.”
Martin was still looking at her as if she had just confessed to eating her
last boyfriend’s liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.
“And do you- um- smoke a lot?”
Anne reached along the bar counter for an ashtray and tapped the ash from the
tip of her cigarette. This was not going well. She decided that, in the
circumstances, something less than the truth was called for.
“No, not really,” she lied. “I suppose I’m what you would call a social
smoker. I have a cigarette now and then when I’m out for an evening. And
occasionally at home,” she added, not wanting to stray any further from the
truth than was necessary.
“But it’s so bad for your health,” protested Martin. “Why on earth do you do
it?”
Anne was getting fed up with this topic of conversation. Most of her
previous relationships had been with smokers and she had not had to undertake
the tiresome task of justifying her habit to them.
“Because I enjoy it,” she said, shortly. She found that she was not,
however, enjoying this cigarette and, after taking another drag, she stubbed
it out half-smoked in the ashtray on the counter. Martin’s expression
brightened visibly and he changed the subject.
After this shaky start, their evening out together had gone well. They
discovered that they had a lot of interests in common and that they enjoyed
each other’s company. Anne resisted the urge to light up in Martin’s
presence again. When they had finished eating, she excused herself to go to
the ladies’ room and walked away through the restaurant, her bag over her
shoulder. Martin poured himself a glass of wine and tried to come to terms
with his discovery that the beautiful Anne was a smoker. Physical fitness
and well-being had always been of enormous importance to him and he had never
understood why other people were willing to put their health at risk by
smoking. Ever since he was a boy he had been resolutely anti-smoking. The
warnings which he received at school and read in magazines seemed to be amply
confirmed by the sight of the old, unattractive men and women smokers with
coughs and throaty voices whom he met around town. The one curious exception
to this rule was his aunt, his mother’s younger sister, who smoked and yet
was neither old nor unattractive. Late one night many years ago, during a
visit by her, he had been unable to sleep and had come downstairs, to find
his mother and his aunt chatting together in the kitchen. His aunt was
smoking a cigarette and there was another cigarette burning in the ashtray on
the table. Young Martin was puzzled. He had never before heard of anyone
smoking two cigarettes at once. Could it be that his aunt was an especially
heavy smoker? An alternative explanation which occurred to him later was too
shocking to contemplate.
Martin was beginning to wonder what had happened to Anne when she reappeared,
smiling contentedly, her make-up freshly applied. He called for the bill and
they got ready to leave.
In the cinema, Anne had excused herself again during the previews, so she was
able to keep her nicotine level sufficiently topped up to see her through to
the end of the film in relative comfort. By the time they arrived back at
her apartment, though, she was beginning to need another cigarette, and she
did not invite Martin in. They kissed goodnight, agreeing to meet again
soon.
* * *
Recalling that first night out now, Anne picked up her cigarette from the
ashtray, reflecting, not for the first time, on how her smoking habits had
changed in the last month since she had started dating Martin. Her thoughts
were interrupted by the sound of a taxi arriving outside her apartment. She
hurriedly took several deep drags in quick succession. With smoke streaming
from her mouth and nose, she closed the door and made her way downstairs,
where Martin was waiting impatiently for her.
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?”