Coming Out, Part 2

This fictional account contains adult language and themes.  If such
language and themes offend you, please do not read farther.  Copyright
1999 by SSTORYMAN.  All rights reserved.  Permission is granted to
reproduce this story in any form and for any purpose as long as this
notice is reproduced and no financial remuneration is received,
directly or indirectly, by the person reproducing it.

COMING OUT

2.   Following the Leader.

   Over the rest of the evening, Bethany had three more cigarettes.  With
each one she smoked, she grew more comfortable.  Smoking the first one in
front of Belinda and Barbi was the hardest.  But the next several were less
traumatic.  Very quickly, smoking in the house, with Barbi and Belinda there,
seemed almost ? well, normal.  One thing was sure.  She felt much less tense
when she smoked.  She'd almost forgotten what a huge difference it made in
how she felt.

   That night she purposely avoided smoking in the master bedroom.  When he
got home, she knew Bruce would hit the ceiling again.  She didn't want to
antagonize him more than necessary.  But by the time she was ready for bed,
she'd put ashtrays in the living room, the family room and the computer room.
She thought about leaving her crushed cigarette butts in the ashtray in the
family room, to make a statement, but decided not to.  No point in making
unnecessary trouble.  She was glad Bruce wasn't coming home 'til late.  With
any luck, she'd be asleep when he returned.  They could avoid further
fighting until tomorrow.

   Meanwhile, Brenda's boyfriend picked her up to go out for coffee.  She was
an avid coffee aficionado.  She loved to frequent coffee shops and sample
unusual flavors.  She and Ryan went to one of their usual haunts, and she
told him what had happened at home.

   "God, that is so cool," Ryan exclaimed.  "Your Mom is great.  Good for
her!  Shit, I wish my mom or dad would announce they wanted to smoke."

   "Ryan, what are you saying?"  She was confused.  They'd dated for two
months, but had never discussed smoking.  "You don't smoke," she said.  "Do
you?  Yech!  It's so gross!"

   "Are you kidding?" he replied, incredulous.  "The only reason you've never
seen me smoke is because my parents would kill me if they knew, and because
it's so tough to get cigarettes.  It's hard to find a store that'll sell 'em
unless you look over 18."

   Brenda smiled.  Ryan was one of the "popular" guys at school, but he had a
boyish face.  He was sensitive about looking young.  She sighed.  "God!  I
had no clue, Ryan.  Frankly, I'm disappointed.  You and my mother are crazy.
Smoking is a disgusting habit.  It's bad for your health.  It smells.  It's
expensive.  It royally pisses people off.  I don't get it.  There's no
logical reason to even consider smoking."

   Ryan sipped his cappuccino and smiled.  "Oh, yes there is, Miss
Abercrombie."  He'd adopted her twin sister's nickname for Brenda.  He loved
to tease her.  "You can't just make a list of pros and cons, and decide which
list is longer.  There's only one question to answer to decide whether
smoking is a good idea.  That question is:  Have you tried it?  Once you do,
the answer to the question whether smoking is a good idea is always 'yes.'
I'd love to smoke all the time."

   "Oh, God," Brenda muttered.  "I don't believe this."

   "Tell me more about your mom," he urged.  "Is she gonna start smoking
around the house?  Like, all the time?"

   "Not if my dad has anything to say about it," Brenda said bitterly.  "But,
yeah, I think that's what she's planning.  She says she wants to be able to
smoke whenever she wants.  I'm sure that means in the house."

   Ryan's enthusiasm increased.  "And will she keep her cigarettes in your
house?  Like, I mean, will they be where you could get at 'em?"

   "I dunno," Brenda replied.  "Yeah, I suppose."  Her antennae went up.
"Where are you going with this?"

   "Hang on," he insisted.  "One more question.  What brand does she smoke?"

   "God, how should I know?"  Then she thought for a moment.  "Someone said
something about Newport.  Does that mean anything to you?  Is that a brand?"

   "Oh, yes," Ryan beamed.  He raised his hands to signal a touchdown.  "Holy
shit!  I love those things.  They are so strong!  They're great."

   "Ryan, I hope you're not suggesting ?."

   "Babe, it's exactly what I'm suggesting.  Figure out where your mom keeps
her carton.  Serious smokers buy 'em by the carton.  I'm sure your mom does,
too.  When she's not around, lift one of her packs.  If we play our cards
right, we can get a steady supply of Newports without her knowing.  It'll be
great."

   "What do you mean _our_ use, Ryan?  I hope you don't think I'll smoke with
you."

   "You've got to, babe," he cajoled.  "You'll love it.  Doesn't your mom
love to smoke?"

   "Yeah, I guess so."

   "What do you mean, you guess so?  Of course she loves it.  Christ, she's
willing to piss off your dad because she loves her cigarettes so much!  Of
course she loves smoking.  Well, so will you."  He leaned over and kissed
her.  "Look, Bren.  You're a real straight arrow.  We don't call you Miss
Abercrombie for nothing.  But it's time to experience a little of the world.
It'll be fuckin' great.  Find out where she keeps her supply and bring me a
pack of those Newports tomorrow night.  I'll show you the rest.  You'll thank
me."

   Brenda felt dazed.  She was confused by Ryan's suggestion.  She had no
interest in smoking.  But she didn't want to disappoint him.  "Okay.  I'll
think about it," she said slowly.

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   The next morning Bruce and Bethany got into it as soon as the girls left
for school.  He was furious, and more verbally abusive than he'd been with
his daughters present the night before.  This time, Bethany expected it.
She'd mentally prepared herself for his assault.  With great determination,
she stood her ground.  She refused to apologize or back down.  In any case,
the deed was done.  She couldn't undo what she'd done.  The girls would have
to deal with it.  Plus, as she told him, she intended to keep smoking in the
house.  Whether he liked it or not.

   He left for work in a fit of anger.  His temper often got the better of
him.  As he left, he said he wouldn't be home for dinner.  He had a meeting
with some party committee members.  It was clear to Bethany he intended to
deal with this by spending as little time as necessary at home over the short
term.  That was fine.  She didn't want him around anyway when he was so
upset.

   As her one concession, Bethany didn't smoke before he left.  As she heard
the garage door close and his car leave, she made a beeline for her purse.
She'd dreamed about doing this for so goddamn long!  Standing in the kitchen,
she carefully shook a cork-tipped Newport from her pack and placed it between
her lips.  Her hands trembled as she clicked the lighter.

   Before getting pregnant with the twins, she always used to look forward to
her first cigarette of the day with great anticipation.  In college, she
immediately smoked a Newport as soon as she got out of bed.  She loved
bathing her lungs with thick, rich smoke in the morning, before beginning her
day.  It was one of the parts of being a smoker she liked best.

Today she'd been up awhile, though she still wore her bathrobe.  Lighting up
wearing bedclothes felt deliciously decadent, like the good old days.  She
took a prolonged, initial drag on the freshly lit cigarette.  Her cheeks
caved in, and the wonderful, long Newport extending from her tight lips
tilted slightly but noticeably upwards.  With no delay, she inhaled the
plentiful smoke and proceeded into a second, extended puff.  Her lungs
welcomed the bountiful, creamy smoke while she took her second drag.  Smoke
intermittently erupted from her nostrils while she kept on dragging,
involuntarily escaping from deep inside her body.  The smoke created a foggy
haze encircling her face and head like a radiant garland.  God damn!  She was
smoking!

   Overcome by the intense pleasure onslaught from her nicotine infusion, she
fell into a chair at the kitchen table.  A third drag immediately followed,
while previously inhaled smoke exploded from her nose.  Oh, God, it felt so
good!  Yeah, this was why she loved to smoke!  She devoured the entire
cigarette, right down to the end, in record time.  Before crushing it out,
she knew she had to smoke a second Newport right away.  She pulled a fresh
cigarette from her pack, put it between her lips, and used the cherry end of
the first cigarette to ignite the second one.  It, too, tasted absolutely
divine.  Nicotine was a fuckin' miracle drug!

   As she enjoyed this second cigarette, Bethany's breakneck smoking pace
began slowing.  As it did, her left hand mysteriously migrated inside her
bathrobe.  She began softly caressing her breasts.  The excitement of smoking
while only partially dressed quickly aroused her.  "Bruce isn't in any mood
to fuck me," she whispered.  "But I'm so goddamn horny!  I might as well get
some satisfaction by myself."

The pleasure of ingesting nicotine began mingling with another, complementary
gratification.  Bethany was no stranger to masturbation.  Her fingers slowly
and skillfully twisted and massaged her increasingly taut nipples.  She
moaned.  She knew how this would ultimately end, but moved slowly to savor
the feelings.  But she'd need two hands to do it right.  Tapping some ashes
in the ashtray, she put her half-smoked cigarette between her lips.  Her
right hand reached underneath her robe to stimulate her crotch.  It was wet
with anticipation!

   Pleasure intensified as her fingers attended to their work, arousing her
wantonness.  Bethany breathed harder now, which had the incidental, pleasant
result of pulling more smoke into her lungs with each successive breath.
Ashes from the dangling cigarette fell to her lap, but she shamelessly
ignored them.  She focused solely on pleasuring herself.  Before she could
finish, the Newport burned down to the filter.  She stopped, withdrew her
hands, crushed the spent cigarette in the ashtray, and decided to move to a
more comfortable location.  After all, she wasn't finished.  The family room
seemed ideal.  She took her cigarettes with her.  She'd  want another one
before she was finished.

   The family room was next to the kitchen.  Settling onto the couch, she
unbuttoned her robe and returned to pleasuring herself.  The morning sun
shone brightly through the large picture window.  Ambient smoke from the
kitchen slowly drifted by, making its way into the family room.  As the sun's
rays hit the migrating cloud, they illuminated the wafting smoke.  Drifting
tendrils languidly danced.  She smiled.  She loved smoke drifting in the air
inside the house.  It made her happy.  She paused, getting yet another
cigarette.  Why the hell not? she asked.  She loved to smoke and play with
herself.  She put another long cigarette between her lips and lit up.  She
let it dangle as she smoked and pleasured herself, this time more urgently.
As before, ashes fell on her lap and the couch.  She didn't care.  Before
this cigarette was done, she climaxed once, and a second time, in rapid
succession.  God, it was wonderful!  It was years since she'd smoked and
masturbated.  When she was done, she went upstairs to take a shower.  She
felt happily satiated, her lungs with delicious smoke, and her body with
sensual satisfaction.

   After a long, leisurely hot shower, she put on a skirt and fancy blouse.
Bethany never dressed up at home, but today she felt so happy she wanted to.
She decided to call Allyson. She'd promised her friend a full report of her
discussion with Bruce and the girls.

She settled in by the phone.  This brought to mind another pleasure she'd
almost forgotten.  She always used to smoke while talking on the phone.  She
could now do it again.  Happily lighting another cigarette, her fourth of the
morning, she dialed Allyson's number.

   Allyson was delighted to hear of the generally positive response by
Bethany's girls.  She giggled lasciviously as Bethany told her of the
masturbation escapade.  Allyson wasn't above pleasuring herself, either,
particularly when the Judge (as she herself called her husband) wasn't up for
sex.  As for Bruce's response, Allyson wasn't surprised by his angry
rebuttal.

   "Bruce is such a hard-ass," she sighed.  "But there may be something more
going on.  Have you heard about the teen smoking initiative being considered
by the governor's staff?"

   "No," Bethany replied.  "What is that?"

   "That may be why Bruce is so uptight about you coming out of the closet.
The fuckin' Democrats in our state are so stupid.  They're all jumping on
this anti-teen smoking bandwagon."

   "I know about the stuff at the federal level," Bethany sighed.  "Bruce
actually made me watch Senator Kennedy's speeches on CSPAN.  Is there
something else happening locally?"

   "Last night the Judge said the governor's office is hot to develop a
legislative program to discourage teen smoking at the state level.  It'll
raise taxes on cigarettes, strengthen laws against teenage purchase of
tobacco products, and other stupid shit.  They're even considering a law like
Florida's, where police arrest kids for underage smoking."  She paused.
Bethany heard the telltale click of a lighter in the background.

   "Are you lighting up, Allyson?" she asked, amused.  "Is this like a small
protest against this shitty idea of the governor's?"

   "Damn straight," came the reply.  Allyson still had her cigarette in her
mouth.  "The cost of being a smoker keeps going up.  I complained to the
Judge.  He said not to worry.  We have plenty of money, he said.  He'll let
me keep buying cigarettes, no matter how expensive it gets."

   "Even so, it irritates the hell out of me," Bethany responded.  "At times
like this, I'm almost sorry I'm not a Republican."

   "Bite your tongue, honey," Allyson laughed.  "That's heresy in some
circles.  But there's a reason I'm telling you this.  Who do you think the
governor's staff asked to prepare the legislative outline?  And who do you
think will prepare the legislation once the outline is approved?"

   "Oh, God," Bethany gasped.  "Not Bruce?"

   "You got it," Allyson snapped back.  "The Judge says Bruce is chairing the
governor's teen tobacco legislative working group.  His task force will study
laws from a number of states, including Florida, consider recommendations,
and make the legislative proposal to the governor's staff." She paused,
taking a moment for a quick drag.  "Your hubby's the man, darling.  Of
course, as smokers, you and I can pray the legislation never gets passed.
But no wonder he's pissed you're coming out of the closet."

   "Oh, God," Bethany reiterated.  "I don't believe it.  It's so weird.  When
I was a teenager, the Democratic party stood for freedom, toleration and
diversity.  We were known for being tolerant of different people and
lifestyles.  We were damn proud of it.  We were those who stood up for
women's rights and gay rights.  For example, fifteen years ago Bruce and I
protested in favor of legislation protecting a teenage girl's right to get an
abortion without telling her parents.  Now they're proposing legislation that
sends the same teenage girl to jail for lighting up a fuckin' cigarette.
Doesn't that seem inconsistent?  What in hell has gone wrong with us
Democrats?"

   "I don't know," Allyson admitted.  "But I agree.  The Judge knows how I
feel.  I'm pissed!  Between you and me, he's pissed, too.  Privately he
agrees it's a contradiction of the principles which for years the party stood
for.  My theory is it's a combination of a nanny complex and being greedy for
tax money."

   "What do you mean?"

   "Smoking's been unpopular for a long time.  But protecting children is
chic these days.  You can pass anything as long as you say the law is
intended to protect children.  The party's controlled by professional
nannies, whose goal is to protect kids from all kinds of shit.  A lot of it's
pure crap.  Add to that tendency the typical Democratic response of wanting
money to fund social programs.  The smoking issue's a win-win situation.  You
raise taxes for programs and, instead of being criticized, you're praised for
supposedly protecting the goddamn children."  Allyson took another hit.  "It
fuckin' makes me sick."

   "Me, too.  No wonder Bruce is pissed.  What should I do?"

   "Nothing you can do, honey," Allyson sighed.  "You're in for a long,
difficult battle with him.  But don't back down.  You're doing the right
thing."  Another pause followed, for another drag by Allyson.  "Tell me this.
Isn't it great to be able to smoke in your house again?"

   "Yeah," Bethany giggled  "It's wonderful.  I've been waiting for this.
Recently I've been smoking half a pack a day.  But that'll increase now that
I can smoke whenever I want.  Before the twins were born, I averaged a pack a
day, or more.  The way I feel now, I'll return to that level in no time.  I
may do a whole pack today."  She laughed.  "I should probably buy myself
another carton.  Otherwise, I'll run out of cigarettes in no time at the rate
I'm smoking."

   "That's how it works, hon," Allyson answered.  "Inevitably your body will
insist that you take advantage of every opportunity you have to smoke more.
The more opportunities you have, the more cigarettes you smoke.  I guarantee
it."

   "I know.  The next thing I'm looking forward to is smoking in my car.  No
one's ever smoked in our Chrysler Town and Country.  In the old days, I loved
to smoke while driving.  I want to do that today, too.  Really, it's sort of
like coming home.  You know what I mean?"

   "Yes, I do.  I'm happy for you, honey," Allyson congratulated her.  "But
be careful with Bruce.  Based on what the Judge said, he'll be damn irritable
about you smoking for awhile.  My guess is he'll say it's bad for his image
in the party.  The only thing that'd be worse is if one of your girls started
smoking, too.  You don't think there's any chance of that happening, do you?"

   "God, I hope not," Bethany sighed.  "Brenda's the most hostile.  Unlike
Belinda, Brenda's no rebel.  I don't think there's a chance in hell she'll
ever think about trying it.  And Barbi's so young; I'm sure she's never even
thought about smoking.  As for Belinda, who knows?  She has friends who
smoke, kids in that alternative crowd of hers.  She's the one I'm worried
about.  But she swore last night she's never tried smoking.  But, oh my!  In
light of what Bruce is working on, I hope to God she keeps her nose clean."

   "Good luck, kid," Allyson concluded.  "I've gotta run."

   "'Bye, Allyson.  Thanks for your support."

   Bethany hung up.  It was time to run errands.  She happily dropped her
pack of Newports and her lighter in her purse.  She'd have another cigarette
in the car.  Life was good.

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   Belinda stood at her locker, dressed in black as usual.  It was lunch
time.  She was waiting for someone.  Where was she?

   "Hi, Belinda," a voice called.  She turned.  It was Cassandra Williams.

   Cassandra was a lovely black girl, short, about five foot three, with a
pleasant, round face and a not-too-thin but nicely curvaceous body.  A
senior, she was two years older than Belinda.  Today she was dressed in
well-worn khaki pants and a tight, three-button gray sweater top, with the
top two unbuttoned, to display her cleavage.  Approaching Belinda, she gave
her a quick hug.

   "Ready for lunch?" she whispered mischievously.  "I am."

   "Me, too," Belinda agreed eagerly.  "Let's go."

   The high school let students leave campus during lunch option.  The two
girls hopped in Cassandra's car and headed off.

   "Where do you want to go today?" she asked.

   "I don't care," Belinda smiled.  "Anywhere.  Just as long as I'm with
you."

   "Great," Cassandra replied happily.  "I'll pick the place."

   They drove to a small deli several blocks from the high school.  A large
number of customers were from the school.  Cassandra pulled into a parking
spot, shut off the engine and leaned toward Belinda.  "Give me a kiss before
we go in," she cooed seductively.

   "Cassandra, not here!" Belinda objected.  "Someone will see!"

   "So?" she replied defiantly.  "I thought we were lovers."  She placed her
hand on Belinda's knee.  "I want a kiss from my new girl friend."

   Belinda looked around.  "Okay, just a quick one."  Their lips met.  Before
Belinda could pull away, Cassandra planted her tongue firmly inside Belinda's
mouth.  Simultaneously, her fingers climbed from Belinda's knee to her
crotch.

   "Mmm, I know what I want for lunch," Cassandra sighed as Belinda pushed
her away.  She laughed.  "I suppose you're not comfortable yet being known as
a lesbian.  Is that it?"

   "Oh, God!  My parents would freak, if they knew," Belinda admitted.  She
smiled seductively at Cassandra.  "But I love you," she reassured her black
friend.  "I've never had a black girlfriend.  You are so fuckin' pretty," she
said.  "I could eat you up."

   "I hope you will," Cassandra sighed.  "I've never had a white girlfriend.
This is new territory for both of us, baby."  She reluctantly opened the
door.  "C'mon.  Let's get some food."

   They looked around for an empty table after entering the deli.  Cassandra
saw one in the smoking section.  Belinda followed the black girl.

   The black girl opened her purse and placed a pack of Marlboro Lights 100's
on the table..  "How much do you smoke, Cassandra?" Belinda asked.

   "I dunno.  A pack a day," she shrugged, placing a cigarette in her mouth
and lighting up.  "Actually, a little less.  Why?"

   "The weirdest thing happened last night," Belinda began.  She explained
how her mother announced she'd been secretly smoking, and how she intended to
begin smoking in public, including in the house.  "I was blown away.  I never
expected it.  It was strange."

   "I think it's great," Cassandra bubbled, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.
"Of course, my own mom has smoked as long as I can remember.  But your mom
sounds really cool."

   "I told Mom I supported her decision.  My dad was pissed.  I told her to
remember my support if I ever need some slack for doing something she didn't
like."  She smiled.  "Like, for example, if I had a black girl friend and
wanted to eat her pussy in our living room someday."

   "You didn't say that!  Did you?" Cassandra exclaimed.

   "No," Belinda smiled.  "I didn't.  But I wanted Mom to remember my support
when she eventually does find out I'm a lesbian.  Sooner or later, my sister,
Miss Abercrombie, will tell her.  I don't think Barbi knows, but Brenda does.
I figured I'd bank some goodwill.  This was an easy way to do it.  I mean, I
don't care if Mom smokes."

   "How do you feel about me smoking, Belinda?"  Cassandra asked cautiously.
"We've only been together for a week.  Do you mind that I smoke?"

   "It doesn't bother me.  I don't have any desire to try it, but shit, I
don't care if you do."

   "My last girlfriend smoked," Cassandra whispered soothingly.  "You
remember Janice?  We smoked together when we had sex.  It was hot." She
paused for a drag.  "Do you want to try it with me, baby?" she asked
suggestively.

   Belinda shrugged.  "I'm not sure I'm into that.  It was weird seeing my
mother smoke.  I can't imagine myself doing it.  It's never appealed to me,
Cassandra.  I don't know why."

   "It sure appeals to me," Cassandra sighed longingly.  "Maybe a black and
white lesbian thing with me shouldn't be the only thing new for you, Belinda.
I'd like to teach you to smoke.  Are you open to that, sweetie?"

   "I guess," Belinda admitted with a non-committal shrug.  "Like I said, I'm
not against it.  It just never appealed to me.  God, my father would shit!"
That thought made her giggle.  "That alone might be worth it.  But Cassandra
honey, I'll do anything if it makes you happy."  She reached her hand under
the table and grabbed her black girl friend's free hand.

   Cassandra acknowledged the gesture with an evil grin.  "Teaching you to
smoke would make me happy.  My mom won't be home tonight.  Come over.  It's
Friday.  Tell your mom we're going to a movie or some shit.  You can stay
overnight.  I'll teach you to smoke."  She winked.  "And, we'll do some
serious lovin', too."

   "Staying over sounds great!  And I'd like that lovin' part," she winked
back.  Under the table, she squeezed Cassandra's hand again.  " My parents
won't suspect a thing.  As for smoking, well, I'm open-minded."

   Cassandra beamed.  "You won't be open-minded for long, baby," she promised
wickedly.  "After one night smoking with me, girl, your mind will be made
up!"  She took a long drag and sucked the smoke inside.  She leaned forward
and from her chocolate brown lips blew a current of creamy, thick smoke into
Belinda's face.  The white girl dressed in black never flinched.  "Your mind
definitely will be made up before I get done with you," Cassandra promised.

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   Brenda walked in the front door.  As always, Ryan'd dropped her off after
school.  A powerful smell of fresh cigarette smoke greeted her nostrils.  Her
mom was obviously smoking.

   "Hi, Bren," Bethany called from her bedroom.  "Barbi called.  She missed
the damn bus.  I've got to pick her up."  She appeared in the foyer with her
purse.  "Do you want to come?"

   Brenda hesitated.  "Uh, no, Mom.  Thanks.  I'm gonna make some phone
calls.  It's about a project for ? for the basketball team."

   "Okay."  Bethany was far too preoccupied to notice Brenda's hesitation.
"I'll be back after I pick up your sister.  There are cookies in the
kitchen."

   Brenda heard the minivan pull out of the garage and head down the street.
She nervously grabbed a cookie and began munching.  She had thirty minutes,
more or less.  Ryan wanted her to find her mother's stash and liberate a pack
of cigarettes.

   She frowned.  She'd never stolen from her mom, or done anything behind her
back.  But Ryan had pleaded so earnestly.  He asked her at lunch again.  She
didn't like it.

   Brenda carefully weighed the pros and cons.  She couldn't afford to
alienate Ryan and lose him.  Now that she was dating him, her popularity at
school had skyrocketted.  He was great for her image, especially with popular
kids.  There were rumors a varsity basketball player would ask her out.  She
liked Ryan, but he was her stepping stone to even greater popularity at
school.

   Ryan was sure her mom bought cigarettes by the carton.  She'd never miss
one pack.  But Brenda had no idea where they were located.  She glanced at
the clock.  Her mom and little sister would be back in under thirty minutes.
If she was going to search, she had to act fast.

   She ransacked the kitchen.  Soon she hit paydirt!  There, in a drawer, was
an unopened aquamarine carton of Newport 100's cigarettes!  But, damn!  She
couldn't steal a pack from an unopened carton!

   She saw folded paper bags by the trash receptacle.  Inside she saw a long
register receipt.  Her mother went to the grocery today.  She scanned the
receipt.  One item was "Ctn - Newport Cigarettes."  She'd just purchased this
carton today.

   Brenda thought.  "This can't be where Mom's kept her supply in the past.
There must be another place, with another carton hidden somewhere else.
Somewhere secret.  But where?"  If there was such a secret stash, she had to
find it.

   Glancing at her watch, Brenda looked where her mom hid Christmas and
birthday presents when they were little.  But no luck in the basement
storeroom, or the kitchen closets.

   She racked her brain.  Fifteen minutes left.  Shit!  Where would it be?
She sat in the family room and tried to analyze the situation.  They had to
be somewhere she could easily access them, where no one would notice.
Suddenly, it hit her!  It had to be her bedroom.  She bolted up the stairs,
convinced that if there was a second stash, it was in her mom's room.

   She flipped on the light.  It had to be where her dad wouldn't look.  That
eliminated most hiding places.  She stared in the large walk-in closet.  Her
eyes fixed on built-in drawers in which her mom kept underwear.  That had to
be it.  Opening it, she felt under the bras and panties.  She felt something.
There was a carton hidden in the back of the drawer, underneath a pile of
brassieres.  She pulled it out.  Newport 100's!  There were three packs.
With a deep breath, she put one in her pocket, returned the carton, replaced
the underwear, and closed the drawer.

   This secret location explained some things that seemed odd.  Over the
years Bethany adamantly told her daughters they couldn't borrow her
underwear.  Upon becoming teenagers, she let them borrow her shirts.  That
was okay.  But she forbade them from borrowing her bras or panties.  Not that
the bras fit them.  They didn't.  But she said it grossed her out to share.
"If your bras are dirty, do a load of laundry.  But don't borrow mine."  That
was a frequent admonition, one Brenda'd always thought strange.  Now she knew
why her mom didn't want them rummaging around in her underwear drawer.
Something secret was hidden inside.

   Brenda stole back to her room with the purloined Newports and slipped them
in her purse.  Each Friday, she and Ryan went out after dinner.  He intended
to smoke these cigarettes.  She knew he wanted her to try it.  She sighed.
It didn't appeal to her.  She'd prefer to forget the whole thing.  But she
had to keep him happy.  She couldn't afford him to lose him.  At least, not
yet.  Not 'til she found a new boyfriend with even more status, like that
yummy basketball player.

   The garage door opened.  Her mom and sister were home.  If she didn't
notice the missing pack, the theft would remain a secret.  Hopefully Ryan
didn't expect her to keep stealing cigarettes.  The whole thing made her
nervous.  She stopped in the bathroom, fixed her hair, and went downstairs,
trying to act normal.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------

   Bethany busily fixed dinner.  "Your dad has a meeting," she explained.
Barbi and Brenda stood by.  "He won't be here for dinner.  Belinda, either.
She wanted to stay overnight with some girl named Cassandra.  I said she
could.  Brenda, do you know this Cassandra?  Is she okay?"

   "Yeah, Mom."  The answer was casually non-committal.   "Cassandra Williams
is real nice.  She's a senior.  Belinda knows her from history class.  She's
pretty," she added pointedly.  "And she's black."

   "Wow.  That's nice," Bethany smiled thoughtfully.  "It's great when kids
from different backgrounds become friends.  Good for your sister!"

   Brenda nodded and smiled.  Unlike Barbi, she knew why Belinda was staying
overnight with Cassandra.  She knew Belinda was experimenting being a
lesbian.  It was Belinda's second consecutive lesbian relationship.  She'd
sworn Brenda to secrecy.  Their parents were liberal, but Belinda didn't know
how open-minded they'd be if they knew she was fucking other girls.

Brenda was conservative.  She didn't approve of Belinda's lesbianism.  But
she respected her sister's privacy.  She expected the same consideration if
she wanted to do something their parents didn't approve of.  Despite their
differences, the twins hung together.

   Barbi was helping with dinner.  Brenda decided to do likewise.  She didn't
want a "your sister helps and you don't" lecture.  While they fixed the
salad, she noticed her mom's smoking pattern.  She had a cigarette roughly
every thirty minutes.  The ashtray in the kitchen was full.  "So much for
smoking only occasionally," Brenda said to herself.

   By the time they sat down for dinner, Bethany had finished baking fresh
bran muffins.  The three women shared the salad and delicious, hot muffins.
Afterward, as was customary, Barbi and Brenda cleared the dishes from the
table.

Bethany was in an unusually good mood.  Without comment, she retrieved her
cigarettes and ashtray and put them on the table.  "Don't do the dishes now,"
she said as she sat down.  "I'll do 'em later."  She put a cigarette in her
mouth, ready to enjoy an after dinner smoke.

   "Thanks, Mom," Brenda said.  "I'm going upstairs to get ready." She was
eager to escape the kitchen.  The air would soon be even smokier.  "Ryan's
picking me up.  We're going out."

   Bethany smiled and nodded.  She lit up a Newport, and her cheeks hollowed
as she took a nice, long, first drag.  "That's fine, dear," she said.  Her
tone of voice was gracious.  As the cigarette dangled, she sucked the smoke
into her lungs.  "Maybe Barbi and I will watch TV tonight.  Just the two of
us.  Or maybe we should rent a movie."

Bethany glanced across the table.  Barbi was staring.  "Oh, I'm sorry,
honey," she exclaimed, smoke pouring from her nostrils.  "Is my smoke
bothering you?"

   "Oh no, Mom," Barbi smiled.  "I don't mind.  It'd be great.  To rent a
movie, I mean."

   "Good," Bethany smiled.  Putting her fingers around the dangling
cigarette, she took a second drag and removed it from her lips.  She inhaled
again.  "I know it's odd to see me smoke.  I'm sorry you have to put up with
it.  I appreciate you being flexible.  It really makes me happy."

   "I know, Mom.  It's fine.  Don't worry about it.  I just want you to be
happy."

   The doorbell rang.  Brenda answered it.  It was Ryan.  He came to the
kitchen to greet Bethany.  She was holding her cigarette.  "Hello, Mrs.
Bennett," he said politely.  "Hi, Barbi."

   Bethany smiled.  "Hi, Ryan.  I suppose Brenda told you I'm smoking," she
said with a funny look, almost apologetic.  He nodded, and she continued.
"It's a nasty habit, Ryan.  Don't ever take it up."

   "Oh, I won't, Mrs. Bennett," he replied.  There was a wry smile on his
face.  Brenda appeared beside him with purse in hand.  "I'm well aware that
smoking's not good for you," he went on.  "I appreciate your advice." Brenda
poked him; he was lying like a rug.  "We'll be back by midnight," he added as
they headed for the front door.

   "That'll be fine," Bethany happily called after them.  "Have a good time,
you two."

   After finishing her cigarette, Bethany started the dinner dishes.  Barbi
volunteered to pitch in.  It was unusual for her to help in the kitchen
without being asked.  But Bethany gladly accepted the assistance.  In fifteen
minutes, they finished cleaning up.

   "Okay, they're done," Bethany sighed.  "Let's move into the family room
and figure out what we're doing."

   She got her cigarettes and retreated to the family room.  Putting them on
the table, she grabbed the TV remote and plopped onto the couch.  She was in
an especially upbeat.  "It's just the two of us, kid.  Shall we see what's on
the tube?  Or shall we go to Blockbuster for a movie?"

   Barbi looked uneasy.  She sat quietly next to her mother on the couch.  "I
don't know, Mom," she finally answered.  "Maybe we could just talk for
awhile.  Would that be okay?"

   "Sure," she answered.  She guessed Barbi's sudden desire to talk was
smoking related.  She'd been preoccupied since they got home from school.
Bethany purposely didn't reach for another cigarette.  "Of course we can
talk," she added.  "What's on your mind?"

   Barbi fidgeted.  "I don't know," she began.  She stopped and looked at
Bethany.  "Mom, it's okay.  You can smoke if you want.  I don't mind."

   "No, it's fine, dear," Bethany smiled.  Actually she did want another
cigarette.  But she didn't want to upset Barbi if it bothered her.  "I'm more
interested to hear what's troubling you."

   Barbi's hands trembled as she brushed her curly, silky hair out of her
face.  "Mom, I don't exactly know how to say this."  She offered a weak
smile.  "But you know what?  I'd be less nervous if you go ahead and smoke.
That way I'll know you're relaxed."   She smiled.  "Don't hold back because
of me," she reiterated.  "Please, light a cigarette.  I know you want one.
Otherwise, you wouldn't have brought them in here."

   Bethany nodded.  "Thanks," she muttered happily, putting a Newport in her
lips.  "You're right.  I do want one.  I appreciate you understanding." She
clicked her lighter.  "It means a lot."  She sucked the smoke from her first
drag into her lungs.  Even though it might bother Barbi, having a cigarette
made Bethany feel happier about having a serious talk with her daughter.

   "Okay, tell me," Bethany repeated.  She paused to exhale a stream of smoke
from the corner of her mouth.  "We're all alone.  What's on your mind?"

   Barbi shifted in her chair.  Anxiety overshadowed her youthful beauty.
"Mom, please don't be mad at me for what I'm about to say," she pleaded.
"Okay?"

   Bethany nodded.  She held her cigarette high, almost above her head.  The
smoke swirling from its tip rose above them.  Oh, God, she thought.  Is Barbi
in trouble at school?

Barbi took a deep breath.  "Remember what I said last night?  I said you
should be allowed to smoke.  Everyone should be allowed to do whatever they
want as long as it doesn't hurt anyone.  Remember that?"

   "Sure," Bethany agreed cautiously.  "I appreciated your support.  I still
do.  But I assume there's something else you want to tell me?"

   "Yes, there is," she confirmed.  She took another deep breath.  "Mom, last
night wasn't a surprise.  I knew you smoked."

   "You did?  How?  I was so careful to use breath mints and perfume to hide
the smell."

   "You were careful," Barbi confirmed.  "That's not how I knew.  One night,
six months ago, you and Dad were gone, and I found a carton of cigarettes in
your underwear drawer."

   Automatically, Bethany took a drag on her Newport.  "What were you doing
in there, young lady?  In my underwear drawer?  I told you I didn't want you
girls in there."

   "I know, Mom.  Please don't be mad."

   Bethany released a cloud of smoke.  Barbi looked ready to cry.  She took
pity on her.  "I'm not mad.  Just a little disappointed.  That's all.  Go
on."

   "It was an emergency," Barbi tried to explain.  "All my bras were dirty.
I couldn't wear an old one.  They're too small.  I was gonna borrow one of
Brenda's or Belinda's.  But they're too small for me, too.  They're too
tight."  She paused and smiled.  "You know, Mom, my breasts are getting
really big," she added proudly as she thrust out her chest.

   "Yes, I know," Bethany sighed dryly.  It was true.  Barbi had bigger tits
than either of her sisters.  "Okay.  You found my cigarettes while borrowing
one of my bras.  What did you think?"

   "I didn't know what to think.  But I guessed that's why you always use
breath mints.  Especially when you pick me up after school.  No one ever
talks about it, but I knew you used to smoke, from seeing your wedding
pictures.  I just figured you were still smoking, secretly, and didn't want
us to know.  I guessed it was 'cause Dad would be pissed."

   "Watch your language, Barbi," Bethany cautioned.  "But you're very
perceptive," she added with an admiring smile.  Barbi had always been her
favorite.

   "Sorry, Mom," she blushed.  "The next few days I studied pictures in our
family album, from your wedding and after.  You're holding cigarettes in
almost every one.  You smoked a lot."

   "Yes, I did," she admitted reluctantly.  "That's why it was so hard for me
to quit."

   "I figured," Barbi nodded.  "I guessed you really liked smoking and didn't
want to stop, because you liked it so much."  She sighed.  "I wanted to try
it.  I took a pack of your Newports."

   "What?" Bethany gasped.  Adrenaline pumped into her system.  She feared
what was coming.  She just wasn't sure how upset to be if Barbi said what she
expected.  "You?  Barbi?  My God, you're only thirteen!  You've already tried
smoking?"

   Barbi nodded her pretty little head.  "Yep," she acknowledged, almost
majestically.  "But remember, Mom, you promised not to be mad.  At least let
me finish."

   "I'm not mad," Bethany seethed.  She was only half lying.  "But I'm
disappointed."  She took a long, last drag on her cigarette and crushed it in
the ashtray.  "Okay, I'm listening.  Keep talking," she sighed, exhaling a
torrent of smoke from her nostrils.

   Barbi collected herself.  She'd always had great poise.  "One night when
everyone was out, I tried it," she went on.  "I mean, I knew you liked 'em.
I wanted to try smoking, too.  So I did.  Gosh, Mom, the first cigarette I
smoked almost made me sick.  But I wasn't surprised.  I knew it takes time to
get used to smoking.  Over the next little while I continued experimenting."

   "But Barbi," Bethany interrupted.  "How could you smoke with no one
finding out?  I never smoked inside the house."

   "Mom, you forget.  I have my own bathroom.  I'd go in there late at night
after being in bed.  I smoked in there, ran the ceiling fan for awhile, and
that was that," she said proudly.

   "Oh, God!  You've done it more than once.  This has been going on for
awhile?"

   "Yeah," she added hesitantly.  "The entire six months.  That's why I
wanted to talk.  You told us you smoke.  I thought you should know I do, too.
Mom, I hope you're not mad, but I've been smoking a lot for quite awhile"

"What do you mean, a lot?"

"Like, every day," Barbi admitted.  "I smoke two or three cigarettes every
day, one in the morning before school, and two late at night after I'm
supposed to be in bed.  I steal about a pack a week from your underwear
drawer."

   Bethany sighed.  Upon hearing Barbi knew of her stash of Newports, she'd
feared Barbi'd tried smoking.  Well, perhaps "fear" was too strong.  But
Bethany certainly felt uncomfortable.  "Well, Barbi, what should I do about
this?  Do you expect me to let you keep smoking?  You heard what your father
said last night!"

   "I know, Mom," Barbi gulped.  "Last night Daddy scared me.  See, I don't
want to stop smoking.  I like to smoke."  She leaned forward with a
plaintive, wistful look.  "I mean, I _really_ like to smoke, Mom.  I know how
you feel.  I feel exactly the same way."

   "You can't possibly," she objected.  "You're only thirteen.  You only
smoke a few a day."

As she lectured Barbi, she recognized her tension triggering a desire for
another cigarette.  She wanted to light up again, but ignored the urge.  She
didn't want to complicate the issue by smoking.  Not at this delicate moment.
"You can't possibly need to smoke, Barbi," she argued.  "At least, not yet."

   "I don't know," Barbi pleaded.  "I only know what I feel.  I want to
smoke."  She paused, and spoke calmly.  "Being with you while you smoke, Mom,
is exquisite torture.  And when you inhale smoke down into your lungs?  It
makes me totally crazy!  The smile on your face, seeing how much you enjoy
your cigarettes?  God, it makes me nuts!  Please, Mom?  Let me smoke.  We'll
keep it our secret.  No one else will know.  Not Belinda, not Brenda, not
Dad.  You understand.  I know you do.  Don't say I have to quit.  And please
don't tell Daddy!"

   Bethany's need for a cigarette to calm her down grew stronger.  She
continued to resist.  "But Jesus, Barbi, you're only thirteen ?."

   Barbi interrupted.  Her voice reached fever pitch.  "For God's sake, Mom!
What the _fuck_ does it matter?  I'm sorry, but I don't care.  Tell me.  How
old were you when you started smoking?  I'll bet anything you weren't much
older than me!  Were you?"

   Bethany should've scolded her for the language.  But the statement hit her
like a brick.  Her daughter was, unfortunately, dead on.  She herself was
only fifteen when she smoked her first cigarette.  And Barbi was almost
fourteen.  She looked at the youngster.  For better or worse, she understood.
The desperate cry didn't fall on deaf ears.  She slowly felt her resolve
weaken.

   "I was fifteen," Bethany answered in a whisper.  "I was fifteen when I
smoked my first cigarette."

   "And how long after that until you were smoking all the time?"

   "Oh, it was immediate."  Bethany's tone grew detached, completely
unemotional.  "It happened right away.  Grandma and Grandpa didn't know at
first.  I hid it.  But as soon as I'd tried it, I smoked every day." She
smiled wistfully.  "It happened like that," she said, snapping her fingers.
"From the start, I loved it.  I had friends I smoked with.  I smoked every
day, from the time I was fifteen, until ?.  until the day your father made me
quit."

   "Mom," Barbi entreated.  "You know how I feel.  I'm just like you.  Maybe
I shouldn't feel this way.  But I do.  God, it's not the worst thing in the
world.  I'm begging.  I didn't have to tell you.  I could've kept sneaking.
But I didn't want to, 'cause I knew you'd understand.  Please, Mom?  Don't
make me quit."

   "What if I say you have to?" Bethany asked clinically.

   "I don't know," Barbi admitted.  "I'm hoping we won't have to find out."

   Bethany released a deep sigh.  Barbi was right.  Smoking wasn't the worst
thing in the world.  To be honest, Bethany knew she herself loved to smoke.
And yes, she did understand exactly what Barbi was saying; only too well, in
fact.  She remembered how much grief her parents gave her about smoking as a
teenager.  She swore she'd never do that to her own children.  She looked at
the youngster.  She was only thirteen.  But she was mature beyond her years.

   "Here," Bethany finally whispered, picking up her pack.  "Go ahead.  Have
one with me."

   Barbi stared in amazement.  She could hardly believe it.  "Really, Mom?
Are you sure?"

   Bethany had a Newport in her mouth.  She handed another to her
disbelieving but suddenly joyful offspring.  Bethany's grin communicated
acquiescence to Barbi's request.  "Girl, I don't know about you.  But I want
- no, need - a goddamn cigarette in the worst way right now.  If you're
  really a smoker like you said, you know what I mean."  She clicked her
lighter and lit up.  "Do you want one or not?" she asked, with cigarette
dangling.  "If you do, I'll light you up."

   "Oh, my God," Barbi gasped.  "Thanks, Mom."  She took the cigarette, and
raised it to her young lips.  The flame from Bethany's lighter ignited the
tip of her Newport.

   As Barbi began to suck, her cheeks caved in.  She dragged in a polished
and professional manner, like someone who'd smoked for years instead of
months.  She opened her mouth and a ball of smoke hung in mid-air.  She
sucked it deep into her lungs.  Her adolescent but large breasts rose to make
room.  A satisfied smile covered her lips.  Wisps of smoke flowed from her
mouth, slowly at first, and then cascading in a virtual torrent of blue-gray
mentholated smoke.

   "Oh, God!  For months I've dreamed about this, Mom," she said impishly.
"I used to fantasize about smoking with you, sharing cigarettes with you.
Wow, this is great!"  Before Bethany spoke, Barbi raised the cigarette to her
lips a second time.  Once more the young cheeks hollowed, and she began a
second, extended drag.

   "You look like you really know how to smoke," Bethany admitted with an
admiring smile.  "I'm surprised you tolerate the smoke so well.  These
Newports are really strong."

   "I don't know about that," Barbi sighed, this time exhaling smoke through
her lips and nostrils.  "I only know I want to keep doing this for the rest
of my life."

   Bethany took a hit of her own.  The smoke did feel incredibly good as she
pulled it inside.  Maybe it was genetic.  But she too wanted to keep smoking
'til she dropped dead.

   "If I let you smoke, we need some limits," Bethany said softly, turning
her head and deliberately directing a cloud of smoke away from the smiling
juvenile smoker.  "But I understand your desire to smoke, honey.  Oh, God.
I'm a terrible mother to let you.  But as long as no one knows, I guess you
can keep smoking.  That assumes we agree on conditions."  She laughed.  "But
honestly, Barbi, how could I refuse you?  I'd be a goddamn hypocrite.  To
tell you the truth, I'd love to be able to smoke with you when we're home
alone, just the two of us.  I love to t smoke, you love to smoke, and smoking
together would be great fun!"

   "Oh, my God!  Thanks so much, Mom," Barbi grinned enthusiastically.  With
her cigarette in one hand, she gave her mother a big hug with the other.  "I
love you," she whispered.

   "I love you, too, honey," Bethany responded.  "God, I'm still uneasy about
this, though.  But if smoking makes you happy, that's the main thing that
matters, I guess."

   "Smoking does make me happy, Mom," Barbi confirmed.  She took yet another
impressive drag.  "Real happy.  I want to smoke so much.  And you're the best
mom in the whole world."  She tipped her head and directed a plume of smoke
upwards.

   "I'm sure your father won't agree," the older woman sighed.  She silently
admired Barbi's exhaled handiwork as it floated toward the ceiling.  Then she
laughed.  "But who the hell cares?"

   The two women smoked four cigarettes together.  Bethany enjoyed having
someone to smoke with.  The oddity of Barbi's smoking quickly disappeared.
Barbi seemed completely comfortable, which helped Bethany overcome her
feeling she was doing something wrong.  She remembered the line from an old
song:  How can it be wrong when it feels so right?

   She finally asked Barbi how she'd developed such a mature smoking style.
Barbi explained she'd always smoked in her bathroom.  She'd carefully watched
herself in the mirror.  She'd practiced emulating other women she'd seen
smoke, such as women in the movies.  Bethany had to admit her daughter smoked
with a flair and maturity that belied her tender years.

   They agreed to some limits on Barbi's smoking.  Bethany'd supply her with
cigarettes.  Barbi'd limit her smoking to no more than ten a day.  She'd
smoke only in her bathroom, early in the morning and late at night.  The
exception was if her father and sisters were gone.  Then she could smoke in
the house if she was with Bethany.  That way, if someone came in
unexpectedly, the cigarette butts and smoke could be attributed to Bethany.
Finally, Barbi agreed not to smoke outside the house.  Bethany wanted to be
sure no one saw her thirteen-year-old smoking.

   That night, a happy Barbi went to bed at eleven.  Bethany was tired, but
decided to stay up 'til Bruce got home.  He arrived at eleven thirty.  He was
not in a good mood.

   "God, you've been smoking like a chimney," he said bitterly as he hung his
coat in the closet.  The air in the house was thick with ambient smoke.
"Bethany, I don't like this."

   "That's too bad," she shot back.  In part, the haze was attributable to
Barbi.  But Bethany wasn't about to tell Bruce.  "You married a smoker 16
years ago, Bruce.  Get used to it."

   He frowned.  "Can't we reach a compromise?  I'm accustomed to a smoke-free
environment.  I don't like this," he said, waving his hand in the smoky air.
"It smells like hell."

   "One person's hell is another's heaven," she smiled.  "I told you.  I'm
sick of pretending I don't smoke, 'cause I do.  I'm sorry I couldn't quit.
But it's a fact.  This time, that's not changing."

   "What about the patch?" he asked.  "Or maybe that gum?  There are programs
to help people stop smoking.  You should try those before deciding you can't
quit."

   Bethany gave a resigned sigh.  "This will shock you, Bruce.  The truth is,
I don't want to.  I like to smoke.  I don't care if the patch or Nicorette or
some other program would work.  I'm not motivated to quit.  I want to smoke,
and I'm going to keep smoking.  So there!"

   He shook his head.  "I don't get it," he muttered.  "It's bad for your
health, especially those damn full flavor, one hundred millimeter Newports.
God, they're toxic!  How can you willingly submit yourself to a habit that's
slowly killing you?"

   She shrugged her shoulders.  "I'm an adult.  I don't have to justify
myself.  This is a free country.  Smoking is not a crime.  If I want to
smoke, I'll smoke."

   "Look, Bethany, it's a terrible example for the girls," he went on
earnestly.  "Wouldn't you feel terrible if one of them began smoking as a
result of your bad example?"

   She felt a twinge.  But she shrugged it off.  Honesty was the best policy.
"No, I wouldn't," she admitted.  "Our three girls are mature.  They'll make
their own decisions about smoking.  Unlike you, Bruce, I support a woman's
right to choose," she added with a wry smile.

   "That's bullshit," he retorted angrily.  "Kids get sucked into smoking by
false advertising and glamorous treatment in the movies.  Then they can't
quit.  Like you, Bethany.  You're stuck.  You can't stop.  You admitted it
yourself."

   "You weren't listening.  I said I didn't want to quit.  I'm not saying I
couldn't.  There's a difference."  She looked in his eyes.  "Allyson said the
governor's staff asked you to prepare drastic, new legislation to curb teen
smoking.  They want to turn teenage smokers into criminals.  Is that why
you're so upset about me smoking?  You're worried about your fuckin' image
again!"

   He turned bright red.  "I'm sorry you heard about the project from
Allyson.  I intended to tell you.  But after last night, I didn't want to
confuse the issue.  Yes, I'm drafting proposed legislation that, if passed,
will reduce teen smoking in the state.  It's why I've been in meetings the
last few weeks.  But that's not the point.  The issue is, you're smoking.
I'm not happy about it, and the girls aren't either.  Everyone's against
smoking these days.  It'll be a plank in the state party's platform for a
long time.  Bethany, you have to quit.  For good, this time."

   Bethany stared.  "No," she said simply.  "I won't.  I'm a smoker.  It's an
embarrassment to you.  That's the problem.  You're not worried about me or
the girls.  You're worried about being ashamed before your influential
friends.  For God's sake, Bruce, quit sucking up to people who don't give a
damn about you.  Don't let them put a wedge between us and destroy our
marriage.  We got along fine when I smoked in the old days.  It can still be
that way, if you'll let it."

   "No, times have changed," he said solemnly.  "You haven't.  My political
career may be at stake.  I won't let you ruin it.  It's either me or your
habit.  I won't stay if you won't change."

   "Do you mean you'll divorce me if I won't quit smoking?  Jesus, that is so
shitty of you!"

   "People will understand why I left you.  But I cannot be perceived as
someone who isn't fully on board with the anti-smoking issue."

   "I'm not a teenager, for Christ's sake," she replied.  "What the hell
difference does it make if I smoke?  Even Bill Clinton smokes cigars now and
again."

   "Don't be naïve.  Cigarettes are different, and you know it.  If you
smoked one or two a week, it'd be different.  But, Christ!  The air in the
house is thick with smoke.  Face it, Bethany.  You're addicted.  You need
help.  If you won't get it, I'll consider my options."

   "Fine," she snorted.  "Your first option, buster, is to sleep in the guest
room tonight."

   "Okay," Bruce said unemotionally.  "I will.  But you haven't heard the
last of this, Bethany Bennett."

   "You have, Bruce," she replied.  "You've heard my final statement.  I
won't quit.  Put that in your pipe and smoke it!"  She grabbed her cigarettes
and lighter, and marched off to bed.

   Bruce scratched his head.  He was doing the right thing.  He was sure.
Eventually his wife would see the light.  And if not ?.  Well, maybe he'd be
better off starting over.

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