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VS STORY (PT 10)


Posted by JOEY FAKENAME , Aug 20,2006,16:00 Post Reply    Forum
Melinda came back to her seat, had a sip of wine, then picked up her cigarette and took a puff.
“Let’s see,” she began, “Where should I start? Well, I was an only child. My folks had me pretty late in life. Dad was 47 and Mom was 38. When I was 10 my mom died in a car accident. About a year after that, Dad started dating Sylvia. She was a lot younger than Dad. I think she was just 26 at the time. Dad was a teacher, and- this will sound weird- she was one of his former students. I was, of course, devastated by my mom’s death, but I never resented Sylvia. Dad was devastated too when Mom died, and I was glad that he found someone. He had been miserable that entire year, we both had, and now there was happiness back in our lives. To me, an eleven year old girl, Sylvia was everything a modern woman of the 70s should be. She had so much life and energy. She made me feel special from the first time I met her. She also smoked and drank. Mom had been raised a Mormon, and Dad had converted before they got married. We had sort of left the church when Mom died, and now there was this lady coming to our house drinking and smoking. I remember the first time I saw Sylvia smoking. They had been dating about a month and we had Sylvia over for dinner. Dad was in the kitchen and Sylvia just lit up a cigarette. I thought Dad was gonna flip when he came back and saw her smoking. I also remember thinking how glamorous it made her look.”
Melinda paused and took a sip of wine and final puff from her cigarette, then crushed it out.
“What kind did she smoke?” I asked. That was always an important question.
“Winston’s,” she answered, then went on with her story, “Anyway, when Dad came back to the room I got ready for him to blow up at her, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He even went out to the garage and got her an ashtray. I wondered why we even had an ashtray. No on in our family smoked. None of my parent’s friends smoked. They were all Mormons. I was really in shock, but also in awe. I was mesmerized with Sylvia’s smoking. I was even mesmerized with the smell.”
I knew exactly what she was talking about, I thought.
“So after they’d been dating about three months I asked Dad if he was gonna marry Sylvia. He said he didn’t know, then asked how I felt about it. I told him I thought it would be a great idea and he just smiled. I’m not sure if I put the idea in his head, or just gave him the go ahead, but three months later they got married at City Hall. I was so happy. It was like having a normal family again. I actually felt guilty, and told Dad. He said he felt guilty too, sometimes, but that Mom would want both of us to go on with our lives and be happy. Sylvia seemed to understand. She made a point to tell me that she never wanted to replace my mom and to just be my friend. She even asked my permission to redecorate the house. If you had come to my house before Sylvia arrived you would’ve thought I lived with my grandparents. She brought in all this modern furniture and let me help her. It was a big improvement.”
I was starting to wonder where Melinda’s smoking fit into all this, and she seemed to read my mind.
“So,” she said, “I’m supposed to be telling you how I started smoking, but be patient. I’m getting there. I had gotten used to Sylvia’s smoking and hadn’t really given smoking much thought anymore. Every once in a while I would just kind of watch her smoke, but for the most part it became no big deal. Now, about this time, Virginia Slims came out and were starting to get popular. Sylvia had all these modern women’s magazines around the house and I’d see these glamorous ads for this cigarette made for the modern woman. I was also starting to mature a little, and the women smoking their long slim white cigarettes were the kind of woman I imagined I wanted to be.”
“Can I tell you something?” I interrupted.
“Sure,” she said, using the pause to light up another cigarette.
“The first thing I thought of when I saw you was that you looked just like one of the ladies in the Virginia Slims ads.”
“Get out of here,” she said doubtfully.
“Really,” I said, trying to convince her, “I swear to God.”
“Well thank you,” she blushed, then went on with her story, “So, I would see these ads, right, and think; Sylvia should smoke these. She’d look so sophisticated. Then I started thinking that if she ever did get these Virginia Slims that I might even want to try them. I was eleven, and it was the first time I’d ever considered smoking. But it was only the Virginia Slims. Not once did I think about swiping one of her Winston’s. I only wanted to try the women’s cigarettes from the women’s magazines. One day while dad was at work Sylvia and I were flipping through magazines and I decided to broach the subject. I found a Virginia Slim’s ad and held it so she could see. I said something like, ‘You should try these.’ She didn’t seem fazed by a little girl suggesting cigarette brands to try. She just said she liked her Winston’s and went back to her magazine. A few days later she was watching TV and I was looking at a magazine and I said, ‘I bet these long cigarettes last longer than yours.’ She gave me a puzzled smile and asked what I was talking about. I said that I thought the Virginia Slims would take longer to smoke than her short cigarettes. She said I was probably right, lit a Winston, and went back to watching her General Hospital. About a month later one of the Virginia Slim ads had a coupon with it. I cut it out and slipped it into her purse. I carefully tore out the page the ad was on so she wouldn’t notice it. About a week later she came to me with the coupon and asked if I had put it in her purse. I acted like I no idea what she was talking about and she said, ‘Okay,’ but gave me a look like she didn’t believe me.”
“You really wanted her to get those cigarettes,” I chuckled.
“I was a bit obsessed,” she admitted, “I’d leave the magazines folded on the coffee table with the Virginia Slim’s ads showing, and continue to make comments to her when I’d see an ad. They had those funny ones, ya know, about women in the 1900s sneaking cigarettes. I’d laugh when I see them, a bit too obviously, so that Sylvia would notice and ask me what was so funny. I’d then show her the ad and she’d say something like, ‘That’s cute,’ then go back to whatever it was she was doing. I was never sure if she was catching on to me. Most of the time she’d act uninterested and didn’t really seem to care that I kept fixating on Virginia Slims. Later I found out that she knew what I was up to from almost the very beginning.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Well now my story gets sad again,” she said as she held out her now empty mug.
I had barely drank any of my wine, but I put a little more in my mug after filling hers. The bottle was now almost empty. I took out a cigarette from my pack and she held her flame out to me. This time I boldly put my hand on the back of hers as I puffed my cigarette to life. She gave me a smile that got my heart racing. I took a sip of wine and waited for her to continue.
“A week after their first anniversary,” she said after taking a deep breath, “Dad passed away from a heart attack.”
I think I made a little gasp or something.
“I know,” she said, “Pretty sad, huh? Twelve years old and both of my parents are gone.”
I wanted to say something. Anything. But I really had no idea what.
“I really didn’t have any relatives to speak of, so now I was an orphan. I was just as devastated as when Mom died, but now I was also scared that I was all alone. Part of me thought that now that Dad was gone Sylvia would pack up and leave. All this was going through my head while we were still at the hospital after the doctor had come and given us the news. Sylvia took it pretty hard too. I know in my heart that she really loved Dad. I guess I always knew, but when I saw how she took his death, I really knew. We both cried a lot that night. The next morning I was still crying, but Sylvia had pulled herself together. She calmed me down a bit, and said some things that eased my mind. First, she said that she was always be here for me and would never leave. That really meant a lot. She then asked me if I wanted to help with the funeral arrangements for my father. She said it would be okay if I didn’t, but that it might help me to get through it. She also told me something for the first time. She said she loved me. She said she could never take the place of my mother or father, but that she loved me as much as any mother could love a daughter. That made me start crying again and she held me in her arms for what seemed like hours. After I pulled myself together a little, she told me that the doctor had given her some medicine to help keep her calm and asked if I wanted some. I did. She went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of wine and a little pill. It sort of looked like she had cut it in half. She handed me the pill, then the glass and said to wash it down with the wine. I had never had wine, but was so upset I didn’t even think about it. Once I washed it down she took the glass, but continued to offer me sips throughout the day. The pill didn’t make the pain go away, but that, along with the wine, seemed to calm me down. A little later I told her that I did want to help with my dad’s funeral, and around three ‘o clock we went to the mortuary. I picked out the coffin, and headstone, and later that night I picked out the suit he would be buried in. Around eight that night I was starting to feel anxious, and I asked her for another pill. This time when she brought it to me she gave me my own glass of wine. I was able to drink half of it before falling asleep on the couch. I didn’t wake up the next day until about eleven. For a few seconds I forgot that my Dad was gone, and then it hit me all at once. I started crying and Sylvia came over to comfort me. She cried a little too. She told me she was gonna try to not take any of the pills until the funeral the next day, but said it would be okay if I wanted one. I said no to the pill, but asked if it would be okay to have some wine. She gave me a big smile and said that sounded like a good idea. We each had two glasses, then went out to buy dresses for the funeral. Sylvia asked me if I wanted to go to the beauty parlor to get our hair done, which we did. Later that night we had more wine and Sylvia put make-up on me. This will sound strange, because I would soon be attending a second funeral for one of my parents, but that was one of the best days of my childhood. It was late before we went to bed that night, and I think I was a little drunk. The next morning Sylvia woke me up and we started getting ready for the funeral. I was feeling guilty for having such a good time the day before, and there was a huge pit in my stomach. I was also very weepy. Once we were dressed, Sylvia went to the kitchen and came back with a pill and glass of wine for each of us. This time the pill she gave me didn’t seem to be cut in half.”
“What kind of pills were they?” I asked.
“I assume Valium,” she said before continuing, “So we each took our pill, and she put make-up on herself, then on me as we had our wine. I should mention that she had been smoking a lot these past few days, but I had totally not thought about Virginia Slims or smoking at all. It was about an hour before the limousine from the mortuary was supposed to pick us up and we were already ready. She had finished her wine while I still had most of mine. She asked me to get her some more and meet her in the living room. She also said she had a little surprise for me. As I was getting the wine I had no idea what kind of surprise she would have for me on the day of my father’s funeral. When I got to the living room she had her purse in her lap and had just lit a Winston. She told me to sit down and close my eyes. I did, and she grabbed my hand and told me to open it up. She put something in my hand and I tried to guess what it was as she said I could open my eyes.”
I was guessing, and hoping, that it was a pack of Virginia Slims her stepmother had put in her hand. I was about to find out that I was right.
“I opened my eyes,” she went on, “And there in my twelve-year-old hand was a pack of Virginia Slim cigarettes. I stupidly asked, ‘What are these,’ and she said, ‘These are the cigarettes you’ve been trying to get me to buy for the last six months.’ I said that she finally decided to try them and she said no, that she was very happy with her Winston’s. I must have given her a puzzled look, because she smiled, then told me that she had bought them for me. I told her, truthfully, that I didn’t smoke, and she said that she knew that, but thought I might like to try them. She said that I obviously was fascinated with them, and that if I wanted to try them that she would be glad to help me. I told her I wasn’t sure, and I really wasn’t. She said that was okay, whatever I wanted to do was fine with her. I continued to hold the pack; it felt good in my hand. Solid, but soft at the same time. I asked her why she liked smoking and she told me there were a lot of reasons. She said they relaxed her, and gave her something to do with her hands. I asked her how old she was when she had started smoking and she said she was about fourteen. As I was asking her questions about smoking I started thinking that I kind of did want her to show me how. She must have sensed that, because she suggested that I should open the pack up and take one out to see how it felt to hold one. That sounded pretty good to me. As I opened the pack I started getting that excited feeling inside that you talked about earlier. I managed to get a cigarette out of the pack and held it in my hand. It looked so long, especially compared to her Winston’s. She told me that with my new dress, hair all done up, and make-up, the cigarette looked totally natural in my hand. She suggested that she light it up herself and let me hold it while it was burning. I agreed and handed her the cigarette. She lit it up and I took it back from her very carefully. I wasn’t really holding it right, and she used her Winston to show me how a lady holds her cigarette. Once I got it right she commented on how much older I looked. I liked that. She told me to pick up my wine and follow her to the bathroom. When I saw myself in the mirror I was totally floored. She was right. I looked way older. I posed with my cigarette and wine and….”
She paused, searching for the right words.
“Yeah,” I prodded.
“Now you’re gonna think I’m weird.”
“No I won’t,” I said, then reminded her, “I’ve told you some weird stuff too.”
“I don’t think you’ve said anything weird,” she told me, “God, I’ve never told anyone this. Okay. When I saw myself- this is awful. Alright, here goes; when I saw myself in the mirror, holding a cigarette, all dressed up, it turned me on. Pretty twisted, huh? I mean, it was the day of my dad’s funeral, and I’m getting turned on by holding a cigarette.”
“Believe me,” I assured her, “I totally know the feeling.”
“Really?” she asked, not knowing if I really did.
“Really.”
“Okay,” she continued, “So I’m standing there primping with my cigarette, feeling a little horny, and Sylvia says I could try a puff if I wanted to. I was nervous and excited, you know, as I put the long cigarette to my lips and had my first puff. Of course I didn’t inhale, but it was still thrilling just the same. I was shocked, at first, that it didn’t make me cough. Sylvia took a puff off her cigarette and I didn’t even notice the difference of her inhale from my puff. I took another puff and she asked me how I liked it. I told her it was pretty cool and I couldn’t believe how easy it was. She told me it was easy because I wasn’t inhaling, but not to worry about it now. I had no idea what she was saying and didn’t care. We went back to the living room and I finished the cigarette and my wine. Sylvia lit another Winston and I asked if I could try smoking again. She said they were my cigarettes and that I could have one whenever I wanted. I took a cigarette from the pack and didn’t really know what to do from there.”
“Because she had lit that first one herself,” I realized.
“That’s right,” she said, “Sylvia realized that too, and offered to show me how to light one myself. I watched her light one, and mimicked her as best I could. I continued smoking that second cigarette without inhaling just like the first one. I loved the look of the lipstick on the filter, feeling more grown-up than ever. I also copied the style Sylvia used to hold her cigarette. How she would prop up the cigarette in her hand and tilt her wrist. How she would lick her lips after each puff. We each had another cigarette, and then I was knocked back to reality when the doorbell rang. It was the lady from the mortuary. All at once a rush of guilt came over me. I was so enthralled by smoking that I had totally forgotten about the funeral. I must have said something like, ‘Oh my God,’ because she shouted that we’d be right there and asked me what was wrong. I started to tell her that I had totally forgotten about the funeral, but stopped because I thought she’d think I was a bad person. She knew though, because she said she was having so much fun watching me learn to smoke that she had forgotten about what we were about to do. I looked down and said, ‘Me too,’ and she lifted my head and told me that it was okay. She said that we shouldn’t feel guilty about any distractions we could give ourselves on such a sad day. That made me feel better. She asked me if I wanted to bring my cigarettes, and, still feeling a little guilty, I told her I didn’t think so. She said she’d put them in her purse with hers just in case. When we got into the limo it all of a sudden started to feel real to me. The pit came back to my stomach. As we drove, Sylvia held my hand real tight, only letting go to pour herself a drink from a small carafe in the limos little bar. I think it was Scotch. She offered me a sip and I didn’t like it at all. She had me hold the glass as she took out her cigarettes and lit one up. She asked me if I wanted a Virginia Slim and I said no in a soft voice. I couldn’t believe she’d asked me in such a loud voice, worried that the lady driving would hear. She offered me another sip, and I said no to that too. She said that it was a harder taste to acquire than the wine. She then had the lady stop at a liquor store to get a bottle of Chablis. I told her we didn’t need to do that, and she said, ‘just in case,’ like she had with the cigarettes. We finally made it to the mortuary where we would have the service. Since we didn’t really have any family, and all of Dad’s old friends had sort of disappeared since we left the church, I didn’t expect to see a lot of people there. Boy was I wrong. There were students- former and current- teachers, some of Sylvia’s friends and even a few Mormons. They all hugged me, and told me how sorry they were. I was a little worried that they’d smell the wine or cigarettes on me, especially the Mormons, but if they did, they didn’t say anything. I was glad that so many people were there. I realized that it would have been so depressing if it had just been a few people. I cried a little during the service, and so did Sylvia. Afterward, everyone hugged me again and said how sorry they were. A couple even commented on how grown-up I was becoming. Most just seemed to pity me, and I was getting uncomfortable. I said as much to Sylvia, and she got me back to the limo. She opened the wine and poured a glass and handed it to me. I looked around to see if anyone was looking at us and she assured me that the windows were tinted. I took the wine and had a huge sip. She then lit up a Winston and asked if I wanted one of mine. I hesitated and she lit up a Virginia Slim for me and handed it to me. I was shaking a little before that, feeling like I wanted to cry. Somehow, holding the cigarette and taking my little puffs really did seem to relax me. Or at least preoccupy me. When the lady who had driven us earlier got into the limo I held the cigarette to my side, trying not to let her see. It didn’t even occur to me to hide the wine, and I even think I was taking a sip when she turned to ask us if we were ready to go. The cemetery was about an hours drive from the mortuary. Dad was going to be buried next to his parents since Mom was in a Mormon cemetery. As soon as I finished my cigarette, I wanted another. I was starting to get anxious, realizing this was all about to be final once we put him in the ground. I think Sylvia was feeling that way too, because she took the pills from her purse and we each took one. Sylvia continued to drink the Scotch, and I continued to nurse my glass of wine. I was really feeling light-headed, but also more relaxed now. I also stopped caring if the lady driving saw me smoke, and part of me even wanted her to. By the time we got to the cemetery I had smoked about five cigarettes and had finished the glass of wine. Sylvia told me that since the cemetery was so far, not to expect the same amount of people that were at the mortuary. I was actually glad to see she was right. There were only five others there. I think they were Sylvia’s friends and a teacher. Two men and three ladies. I stumbled a little as we walked to the graveside, and Sylvia grabbed my arm to steady me. The service was very brief, thankfully. I cried. Sylvia cried. One of the ladies cried. The five people again told me how sorry they were and started to leave. I asked Sylvia if I could have a few minutes alone with dad. She walked to the limo while I knelt down by the grave and said my good-byes while crying. When I was done I went to the limo where Sylvia was having a cigarette with the teacher who had cried during the service. Everyone else had gone, and when I got to the limo Sylvia took out the pack of Virginia Slims and handed them to me. I didn’t care that this other woman was there and I lit one up. She didn’t seem to care either. She just told me what a great man my dad was and how much she would miss him. She said she had some stuff in her car she wanted us to have, pictures of Dad or something. The lady hugged me good-bye, and I remember thinking how weird it was hugging this lady while we both were holding cigarettes. Sylvia walked her to her car to get the pictures, while I got in the limo. I took a puff and the driver turned to ask me how I was doing. I had forgotten all about her. I told her I was okay and she gave me a sympathetic smile. None of these adults seemed to care that I was smoking. When Sylvia got back to the car she poured us each a drink and we headed home. I cried a little and Sylvia put her arm around me. When we got home we had more wine, and I think I got a little drunk, because I really don’t remember much about that night. I got up the next day around noon and Sylvia was gone.”
“She left you?” I asked in disbelief.
“No, silly,” Melinda smiled, “She had just went to the store. My pack of Virginia Slims was out in the living room and there were maybe five cigarettes left. I wondered if I was still allowed to smoke, or if it was just something she let me do on the day of the funeral. I decided to light one up just in case, and put the rest in my room. I went to the bathroom to watch myself in the mirror. It wasn’t the same as before. I was just a little girl again. I still got a little turned on though. I watched myself smoke the whole cigarette, and that’s when I realized I wasn’t doing it right. I decided that if Sylvia was going to let me smoke I’d ask her how to do it right. I think I also decided that if she wasn’t going to let me smoke I’d do it anyway. Well, when she got back she had two more packs of Virginia Slims, so I guess I knew she was gonna let me smoke. I smoked that day, not as much as the day before, and that night we went out to dinner. I didn’t even think about bringing my cigarettes, but Sylvia did. After we got sat she pulled both our packs from her purse and said I could have one. I was a little nervous, but, just like you, excited too. I remember a girl seeing me smoke and whispering something to her mother. I really don’t remember what the mother’s reaction was. Also, the waitress did seem a little shocked, but never said anything. Sylvia asked me if I had liked wearing make-up yesterday and I told her I did. She said we’d have to buy me my own, and maybe some new, hipper clothes. That sounded great to me. Later, still at the restaurant, I asked her about inhaling. She said not to worry about that and to just keep smoking the way I was. Maybe in a week or so she’d show me. Well, I didn’t have to wait a week. I accidentally inhaled somehow a few days later. I coughed, and felt wheezy. I also noticed smoke coming out of my nose when I did it, and that was the way I later tested to see if I was actually inhaling at first. When Sylvia asked me if I still wanted to inhale a few days later, I had a bit of a head start. She let me have some wine, the first time since Dad’s funeral, and then showed me how to inhale. I loved the way the wine and cigarette tasted together, and Sylvia said wait ‘til I try coffee and cigarettes. After a month or so I was inhaling every cigarette without any bad effects. I also started getting cravings, and I loved that. It meant I was actually a smoker, and the cigarettes tasted so good when you really were craving one. I assume that hasn’t happened to you yet?”
“I don’t think so,” I answered.
“You’ll know when it does,” she assured me, “Anyway, once I was really smoking, I really liked the reactions I’d get when I’d smoke in front of an adult for the first time. That, along with the sips of wine your boss would give you, made me remember all this. Sylvia liked the reactions my smoking would get from adults too. She’d have a friend over and have me answer the door with a freshly lit cigarette, or have me smoke in a store or something like that. We both really got a kick out of it.”
“How did her friends react?” I asked her.
“They were all a little shocked at first; then they thought it was cute; and then they just thought it was no big deal. I had a lot of fun hanging out with them, and smoking with them, and sometimes even having wine. “
“How often would you have wine?”
“Really not that much at first. Not until I was sixteen. Then I’d usually have a glass or two at night with Sylvia. I never really partied with my friends. Just Sylvia and hers,” she said with a fond smile.
“Do you still see Sylvia?” I asked, hoping she wouldn’t tell me she was now dead too.
“All the time. We are so close. Like best friends and like mother and daughter. She’s the most special person in the world to me.”
“Did you ever get her to switch to Virginia Slims?” I asked her.
“Nah,” she said, “She’d bum one from when she was desperate, but she still smokes Winston’s. At least now she’s changed to the 100s.”
“And Virginia Slims are the only brand you’ve ever smoked?”
“Mostly,” she told me as she reached for another cigarette and lit up, “For a while when I was 16 I smoked these brown cigarettes.”
“Mores!” I almost shouted.
“Yeah,” she said a little quizzically, “You like those kind, do ya?”
“I’ve never tried them,” I said, “But I think women look really…sexy smoking them.”
“One of Sylvia’s friends showed up one day smoking them and I thought they looked pretty cool. She got a kick out of letting me try them, and I had Sylvia get me a carton. After a few months, though, I went back to Virginia Slims and have been smoking them ever since. Well,” she said, changing the subject, “I suppose we better get down to business.”
There were a million more questions I wanted to ask her, but it actually was getting late. We agreed on an ad, using one of Staci’s business cards as an outline, as well as some things I remembered from the flyer. She let us get a half-page add for the price of the quarter-page ad, which turned out to be the amount of money Staci wanted to spend.
She packed up her stuff, and finished the last of her fourth (or was it fifth) glass of wine. She never seemed drunk; just a little friendlier, and sillier too.
As she was leaving I realized I’d never really have any reason to see her again. I really felt like I was losing a friend. She said good-bye and walked out the door. I was thinking about going outside and saying something, but had no idea what. Then the door opened and Melinda popped her head back in.
“Ya know what?” she asked me without waiting for an answer, “I really liked talking to you, Joey.”
“I liked talking to you too,” I told her, then added something corny, “You seem to understand me.”
That made her smile.
“We should have lunch together sometime,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, perking up, “That would be great.”
“I’ll call you here sometime next week,” she told me.
She then did something that still gets to me today. Without saying anything, she walked up to me and planted her lips on mine. It wasn’t a French kiss, but she did part her lips and I could taste the wine and cigarettes on her. It only lasted 3 or 4 seconds, but wow! I got a lot of use in the bathroom from that memory for years to come. After the kiss, again without saying another word, she turned around and left. I bet I stood there frozen for at least a minute. I then snapped out of it and went into the bathroom and locked the door.
 

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