Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Rescue

   He loved to hang around the old record shop at number 95.  The owner was
a young lady and she never drove him away like other shop-owners.  She had
a tiny loudspeaker on the outside of her shop and most of the time she
played some old '70s stuff.  Not the cheap rum-biddy-bum disco tunes, but
mostly the good ones, the ones he remembered from his own teenage years. 
She was way too young to know them first hand but somebody had maybe
introduced her to this kind of music, "progressive" as people called it
back then.  Often she would play Emerson Lake and Palmer or Pink Floyd,
sometimes some more conventional groups like Santana or Uriah Heep.  In a
word all those sweet old tunes that rose that bittersweet pain in his soul.


   Sometimes, the young woman would stand outside to smoke a cigarette. 
With a little luck, a customer would come and she would throw away a
half-smoked cigarette without squashing it.  He would look around, make a
leap for the lipstick-smeared stub and smoke it up.

   He shuffled towards the shop, keeping to the opposite side of the
street. He had no idea if the young woman had noticed that he hung around
her shop, but he didn't want to attract attention.  Nobody took notice of a
passing hobo, but as soon as he turned up at the same place too often,
somebody was bound to focus on him and that usually meant trouble.  He was
ashamed of his ragged clothes, of the dirt on his face and hands and the
stench he spread.

   When he reached the shop, he felt like fainting.  It had gone out of
business.  But how could that be?  True, he had not been here yesterday,
but the day before he had seen the young woman leave the shop with a fine
young man, both with "love" printed on all over their faces and he had felt
so happy for her, just as if she was his own daughter.  And now the shop
was empty.  Not even a sale out in the preceding days.

   His first impulse was to lay down right there on the sidewalk and never
get up again.  The last feeble twine had snapped.  All of a sudden, his
miserable existence made no sense any more.  But then he decided to take a
more dramatic way out.

   Back on the main street, he chose a position directly at the kerb in the
middle between two blocks.  He would wait till a car came that had just
made it before the traffic light turned red again.  It would have picked up
enough speed to make it quick and merciless.  He would ruin the guy's car,
but that was none of his concern.  He would finally find his peace.

   It was a shiny new BMW and it came at considerable speed.  Maybe the
driver hoped he would out-speed the next traffic light too and pass the
intersection just before the lights turned red, or maybe he was just in a
hurry.  Whatever the reason, the car came handy.  He made a tentative step
down the kerb, hoping the driver wouldn't notice it.  When the car was no
more than a few yards away, he hurled himself in front of it.

   The face of a woman obscured the sky.  She was in her forties with a
livid complexion, but still beautiful.  He could see her strong shoulders
clad in a business suite of sorts, but above all it was her perfume that
imprinted itself on his brain.  A mixture of female sweat, expensive
perfume with traces of bergamot and jasmine in it and covering it all,
stale smoke.  Intense blue eyes stared in his face, deeply worried.  Then
the lights went out.

   The first sensation when he woke up was the slight scratch from clean
linen.  After years of living on the streets, he had almost forgotten how
clean clothes felt on his skin.  For a while he just bathed in the
sensation with eyes closed.  The light shone through his closed lids.  It
was somewhere around noon, although whether it was the same day or another
one he couldn't say.  He hadn't eaten for a long time so he had already
been hungry before his accident.

   Without opening his eyes he sniffed at the air.  Something was missing.
Then he realized it.  His nose had adapted to his own stench and that was
missing now.  He had expected something else that wasn't there too, the
foul hospital malodor, a mixture of sharp disinfectants and exudations of
sick people.  What he smelled was fine soap on fresh linen and stale smoke.
So wherever he was, it was a place of somebody with money.  Not a hospital,
nor the mission where he went in the winter or when the hunger grew
unbearable.

   Whatever had happened to him, it could have been worse.  Time to explore
the surroundings.  He opened his eyes, blinked from the sudden light and
adjusted slowly.  The room was scarcely but elegantly furnished.  A big
wardrobe occupied the opposite wall, all doors covered with mirrors. 
Through the window at his left side he could see a treetop and the blue
sky. To his right, there was a wood- paneled door.  He closed his eyes and
tried to sleep some more.  It seemed like ages since he'd slept in a real
bed with clean linen and clad in clean silky pajamas.  More than drink or
food, it was the cleanliness he had missed most.

   He woke up again from the slight creak of the door.  Now he would find
out where he was and why.  He knew the face of the woman that entered the
room.  It had hovered above him before he had lost conscience.  The
middle-aged woman with the deep-blue eyes and the wonderful fragrance on
her.  Through the half-opened door, the harsh smell of fresh cigarette
smoke billowed in.

   'Hello there' the woman said with a deep throaty voice.  No question she
was an avid smoker.  His dick stirred slightly.  'How do you feel?'

   'Good, I guess' he replied, not sure whether he was just being polite or
he felt really well.  In his present state, after a prolonged fasting, he
was in a serene state in which pains weren't real any more.

   'Good.  My doctor said you got away without a scratch and all you would
have to fear would be a slight concussion,' she said with her wonderful
voice.  Whether she was a really heavy smoker or a light one, she sure had
the voice to go with heavy smoking.

   'It was your car, wasn't it?' he asked, already sure of the answer.

   'Yes indeed and you almost ruined it.' she answered with a bit of anger.

   'I'm sorry.  Is it damaged badly?'

   'Oh no, you never touched it.  I don't know what you were trying to do
but I didn't run you over.  You just fell flat in the street and I managed
to avoid you by inches.'

   'Thank God!  I mean if it had worked out I wouldn't have to worry about
anything any more, but now I'm glad nothing happened to your car.'

   He smiled.  Maybe this could turn into something.  He had no idea what,
but at least for a short while he would feel like a human again.

   'Oh forget the car!  It's only scrap metal.  I'm glad you seem to be OK.
I'd hate to have someone on my conscience.  But forgive me.  I came in here
to see if you need something.  I doubt you had plenty of food lately and
the doctor said to make you drink a lot too.  I mean water or soda, not
alcohol.' She said, now with a friendly, even compassionate smile.

   'Yes, actually I could do with a snack if I'm not causing too much
trouble.'

   She laughed a little.

   'We'll need more than a snack to get you in shape again.  Now that
you're here, I might as well take care of that.  The toughest part, to do
away with all the filth and dirt, is over anyway, so you can as well stay
for a while.' Saying this, she left him alone.

   What was going on?  he wondered.  How come he had chosen the car of the
probably last real Samaritan in Manhattan?  She didn't even look like a nun
or a Salvation Army Officer.  More like a widow or divorcee.  He had always
been fairly good at judging people.  This woman was a smoker and looked far
too self-conscious or better, conscious of her still attractive appearance.
She simply didn't speak or act like an old spinster or a missionary.  Now
that he came to think of it, she wore a simple T-shirt and the outlines of
her mind-boggling breasts had shown through the thin fabric.  Not exactly
bible-belt style.

   'There you are.  I have brought you some chicken broth for starters. 
You shouldn't eat something heavy at first, the doctor says.'

   The soup was wonderful--hot but not overly so, and tasty with just the
right amount of salt, and deliciously fat.  He could almost feel the energy
return to his body.  She watched him smiling, pleased he enjoyed the meal.

   'Thank you so much.  I don't think I have eaten something as delicious
ever since...  But that's not important.  Father McManus from the mission
is a very generous man, but I'm afraid he has no good hand when it comes to
hiring a cook.  Although, the women there are volunteers and they have a
rather limited budget, so the poor father does his best.  He kept me alive
for almost five years and he doesn't deserve criticism.  No Sir.'

   The lady laughed softly.

   'I'm glad you appreciate my cooking skills.  But maybe we should set
some things straight first.'

   There it comes, he thought.  Now I'm gonna get it.

   'First, I think we should introduce ourselves.  My name is Lorna.  Lorna
Gray.'

   'Glad to meet you,' he replied.  'Greg.  Gregory Lincoln.'

   It wasn't his real name of course.  He had dropped his name the moment
he realized he was going to live on the streets.  It struck him that the
woman bore the same first name his former wife had.

   'Then I want to tell you that you can stay as long as you like.  Don't
worry about my motives.  Let's just say I have done a lot of things in the
past I'm not proud of and I want to pay back a little of my debt to society
or God or whoever.  I want to help you become a member of society again. 
But let's leave that for later.  I just wanted to make it clear to you
there's no need to grab all you can and make for the door.'

   He could hardly believe his ears.  Should this be the chance he had
craved for?  He never believed it would actually happen, but he had
sometimes dreamt of being saved.  At first, he had seen his downfall as a
sort of just punishment.  He had been so depressed that nothing had
mattered any more.  Then, after Father McManus had helped him to stay
alive, he found there was still enough stamina left in him not to give up
completely.  Yet even the good Father saw no way in getting him out of his
situation.  The Catholic Church as an institution, although bound by its
own credo to charity, still disapproved when her priests engaged too much
in direct charity, like feeding the poor and giving them shelter...

   'Thank you, Mrs.  Gray.  I have no words to express what this means to
me and I will do my best not to disappoint you.'

   With half a smile that gave her weary face back a touch of youth, she
answered: 'Call me Lorna and I will call you Greg.  I sure hope you won't
disappoint me.  For now all you have to do is let me nurse you back into a
human being.  I'll have to apply some stuff the doctor left here, to cure
all the blisters and eczema you have and some are in rather unusual
places.'

   Saying this, she tore the blanket away and started to undress him.  He
stared at her in shock.  This wonderful mature lady would now caress him
everywhere?  He knew well where the worst wounds were.  This was almost too
much to be true.

   While she leant over him, he had time to admire her from close up.  She
was quite tall and rather strong, but not ungracefully so.  She had big,
but very light hands and with them she started to apply a sort of ointment
from a jar on all the places where his skin had suffered from years without
proper hygiene.

   On and off, he caught a whiff of her smoky breath.  What a delight!  He
hadn't very often been that lucky, even before he had taken to the streets.
He somehow hadn't ever made it to date a smoker.  His girlfriends had all
been nice and clean, not the sort to start smoking early.  Later, when he
met Lorna, the other one that had then become his wife, she hadn't been a
smoker either.  He had believed he could do without it and it seemed to
work, at least for some time.

   This Lorna was of a different caliber.  And now she had arrived with her
ointment at the most sensitive place, his penis.  Without a sign of disgust
she started to apply the unction on his limp organ.  To his horror, her
soft touch gave him an erection.  He didn't want that, he was afraid she
would throw him out or something like that, but he could do little about
it, especially as it felt incredibly good.

   'I'm sorry.' Was all he managed to say, but she silenced him with her
finger over his mouth.  The nicotine stains and the typical smell on her
finger didn't help him to cool down.  And still, she kept on rubbing his
penis, like she deliberately wanted him to jerk off, and of course it
happened.  Without a word, she took some tissues and cleaned him up.  Then
she turned to him and he saw the satisfaction on her face.

   'I hope you feel a little better.  I'm sure you didn't have many
opportunities for this kind of treatment lately.' Now she actually winked
at him.  'Try to relax and have a nap.  I'll be back with some more
substantial food later, if you feel up to it.'

   At first, he couldn't fell asleep.  What had just happened?  Was he dead
and in heaven?  The Arabs believed they would be served by "houris" in
heaven, the word being at the root of the English "whore".  But he didn't
believe in such rubbish.  At the back of his mind, he feared that he would
wake up from a dream and find himself in the gutter again, hungry and
filthier then ever.  But the softness of the sheets told him otherwise.  In
the end, he drifted off in sweet slumber.

   When he woke up again, it was dark outside.  He turned his head and
looked directly into Lorna's eyes.  She was watching him with an intensity
he didn't understand.  It was like she wanted to look inside his head.  The
next moment it was all gone.  All he could read in her eyes was friendly
compassion and a deep-rooted melancholy.  She smiled at him and asked:

   'How do you feel?'

   'Good, I guess, and a bit hungry, but I need to go to the restroom
first.' he answered, suddenly aware of the pressure on his bladder.

   'Do you think you can stand on your feet?'

   'Let's find out.' He said and started to rise.  For a moment he felt
dizzy, but then it was over and he was confident he could make it.  She
took his arm and helped him up and walked him to the bathroom.  It was a
fairly big affair, all shiny and elegant.  He hadn't seen something like it
in years and he told her so.

   'Well, I'm glad someone appreciates it.  I'm pretty much alone most of
the time' she replied upon his appraisal.'Do you need help?'

   He shook his head.  She left him, and he suddenly remembered how his
wife had taught him to sit down while peeing; he relieved himself and after
washing his hands he left the bathroom.  She was waiting in the hallway,
smoking a cigarette.  He was afraid he would make an ass of himself, so
much did the image of this beautiful woman sucking on a filterless
cigarette arouse him.  But by some miracle he didn't get a real hard on
right away.

   'I hope you're not overly sensitive towards smoke.  I'm afraid I am
quite addicted.  I would have a hard time keeping this apartment
smoke-free,' she said, a little embarrassed.

   'Oh, don't worry.  I've never had any problems with smoke.  It doesn't
bother me.  I mean, it would be pure impudence after you've taken me in. 
To want to tell you what you're supposed to do in your own home!' he
answered, shaking his head.  Even if what she had done to him in the
afternoon had been a one-time affair, he hoped he could at least watch her
smoke.

   His answer made her smile.

   'I can see you're pretty firm on your legs again.  Care to join me for a
late dinner in the kitchen?'

   'Yeah, anything you say, lady.  I'm in your hands.'

   His answer made her laugh.  And what a laugh it was!  Deep and throaty,
with a smokers rasp in it.  He could only hope she didn't look too closely.
His dick was half-swollen already.

   'C'mon, I've told you to call me Lorna.  No need for formalities.'

   'All right then, Lorna.'

   They went to her kitchen, all shiny stainless steel, with all the
gadgets in it.  Wow, she must have heaps of money to afford this, he
thought.  All through the meal, a simple but delicious dish of vegetables
and chicken, he caught her looking, no, staring at him.  He couldn't place
her inquisitive or maybe puzzled look.  It wasn't unfriendly, though.  More
like, she was simply trying to figure him out.

   When they both finished, she immediately lit a cigarette, offering him
one too.  He declined.  Once he had landed on the streets, he had to quit
cold turkey, as he simply had no way of getting hold of cigarettes and he
wasn't prepared to pick it up again.  True, sometimes he had picked up a
discarded cigarette and had sucked on it, but he had done it only if it was
from a woman and not really for the nicotine.  But then, what if this fairy
tale would end and he would find himself on the streets once more?  Then he
would have to battle his addiction once again.  No, better not.  Even
though, he still missed it.

   'We should put you to bed,' she said, puffing small clouds of smoke in a
terribly alluring way.  'I have to apply some ointment again.'

   He nodded with a dry throat.  Would the act from before be repeated? 
Would she again help him to jerk off?  To him, it was almost better than
real sex.  He was all bones and he doubted he could bring up the power to
stand through a real work-out, not with this wonderful and certainly
demanding lady.  In a way, it reminded him of his childhood.  Never again
had a woman shown such lust-bringing affection to him.  Even his own mother
had stopped being so tender to him after he grew out of his diapers.

   His wife had been rather prim and uptight about sex, although before
they married they did have their share.  But it hadn't taken his wife long
to grow disappointed in him.  He did his best to satisfy her, but she kept
pestering him about not going after a career in the company he worked for.
She couldn't understand that he was quite content to just do his job.  She
denied him sex more and more often.  And even on the rare occasions she did
give in, their love-making had turned into a casual and disappointing
affair.

   Funny he had to think about his former wife.  He had all but forgotten
her in the years on the street.  In fact, he had undergone great efforts to
deliberately forget his former life.  He couldn't even remember her face
any more.  Yet, now, she seemed more present on his mind than any time in
the last five years.  Maybe because the lady who now took care of him also
bore the name of Lorna.  In fact, she even looked remotely familiar.  There
was something about her eyes...  The first Lorna had been a lot thinner
though, almost frail, although of the same height.  But then he could have
met his former wife on the street without recognizing her.

   Lorna did indeed repeat her "treatment" of the afternoon, this time even
kissing him on the forehead after she was done.  Satisfied like he hadn't
been in years, he drifted away in peaceful slumber.

   He only had tea and water but of those he had drunk more than he had
been used to, a lot more in fact.  Living on the streets also meant he
wasn't usually getting enough liquid of any kind.  Clad in dirty rags, he
couldn't just walk up to a store and ask for a glass of water.  Now the
amount he had drunk during the day called its toll, and sleepy as he was he
had to go to the toilet.

   He made his way back, still overwhelmed by the luxury of a sparkling
white toilet, creamy soap and clean towels.  Passing a door he presumed led
to Lorna's bedroom, he heard muffled noises he recognized to be sobs. 
Lorna wept!  Well, he thought, her façade of self-assuredness sure had its
cracks.  He felt sorry for her, almost feeling her chagrin like a cold
breeze on his face, but he couldn't break into her privacy.  This miracle
would be over the minute he would step into her bedroom.  Nobody would
believe he had had only the best of intentions.  There was nothing he could
do but go back to his own room.  He left the door slightly ajar and
listened to her sobs till after what seemed to be more than an hour, she
fell silent.

   In the morning she almost burst into his room, probably believing he had
gone, mislead by the opened door.  He greeted her with the biggest smile he
could bring together without parting his lips, as he knew well that his
teeth weren't a very pleasant sight.  When she saw him there, he could see
her relief and wondered why it was so important for her that he should
stay. What was in it for her?  It couldn't be that she was infatuated with
him.  Even in his best times he hadn't been remarkable in any way,
certainly not the kind to attract women.  Now, at least thirty pounds
underweight, all he could expect was pity.  Like on clue she said:

   'We will have a good breakfast now and if you think you're up to it,
I'll take you to a friend of mine.  He's a dentist.  I can imagine you
haven't been to one for quite a while,' she said, her face all sympathy and
compassion.

   He couldn't believe his ears.  What would come next?  How far would she
go?  And above all, why?  What was her motivation?  He didn't believe he
had ever met her before, although she did look vaguely familiar.  But what
else should he do but enjoy it all as long as it lasted and to hell with
the bill?

   Two more days passed, and after the dentist had removed the worst
damage, he began to feel human again.  Lorna had repeated her anointing
sessions, including the finale on his cock, and the last time she had
actually brushed his lips with hers.  It was unbelievable, yet she really
seemed to feel something for him.  In the nights he could hear her cry, but
he didn't dare ask her.  They didn't talk much.  Most of the time he would
rest in his bed and daydream, while she retreated to what seemed to be her
study and work.  All he could feel from her presence was the smoke that
drifted past his room.

   She had worn an ankle-long skirt most of the time, but when she came to
ask him to breakfast, she was clad in a business suit, prepared to go
somewhere.  For the first time, he could see part of her legs and what he
saw looked no worse then the rest of her.  She had strong calves, but they
were gracefully shaped.  He had become accustomed to see her big breasts
bouncing under her T-shirt, but now that he saw her in that business suite,
she looked so impressive, stern but sexy, that he got an instant erection.
She smiled at him and said:

   'Your little friend will have to wait.  I need to attend to some
business today.  If you are lonely, just go to the living room and turn on
the TV or listen to some music.  My CDs aren't everybody's taste, but you
can try to find something.  I'll see you at lunchtime.  You think you can
manage on your own?'

   'Oh yes, certainly.  With your wonderful cooking and, err, well, your
care I already feel like a new man, or let's better say, almost like my old
self.  I mean, like the man I used to be.' He answered.

   A shadow fell over her eyes, but she left without saying anything.  He
strolled to the kitchen and wolfed down the eggs and the bacon together
with several cups of coffee.  Enjoying the still uncommon sensation of a
full belly and the aftertaste of good coffee, he went to her living room
and inspected the stereo and the CD-rack.  It was unbelievable!  All his
favorites were there.  Uriah Heep, Ten Years After, Creedence Clearwater,
even Emerson Lake and Palmer, and Pink Floyd were lined up together with
other stuff like Genesis, Sting or Chris de Burgh.  He reached for "Wish
You Were Here" and fed the expensive H&K player with it.  Remote in hand,
he stretched on the sofa.  From the huge JBL speakers, the familiar
synthesizer sounds, combined with the almost subsonic pumping of the
synthetic drums, filled his ears and his soul.  He abandoned to the magic
of the tunes.  On and off, a tear escaped the corner of his eye.

   He was listening to "Lady in Black" with eyes closed, when he felt her
presence.  She looked at the CDs he had spread on the floor in front of the
stereo, then at him and he caught a glimpse at the tears shimmering in her
eyes before she turned her back on him and disappeared again.

   When she came back, dressed casually in a T-shirt and leggings, her face
looked friendly again, no trace of whatever had caused her sudden sadness
before.  He noted that she smoked with more intensity, though.  He couldn't
keep his eyes off her.  The way she dragged on her filterless cigarette,
leaving traces of lipstick on the thin paper, occasionally picking a
tobacco morsel from her lips, her strong legs, outlined through the fabric
of the leggings...  Her whole appearance made him shiver with arousal.  She
couldn't have overlooked his state, but she showed no sign of it.

   'You have a wonderful collection here,' he said with a slightly hoarse
voice.

   'Oh, yes.  I love each and every one of them.  I've sort of inherited
them from my first husband.  I didn't like them when he played them for me,
but after he left, I started to listen to them, kinda like to remind me of
him' She replied.

   'So you're married?' he asked, hoping she would deny it.

   'I was, yes.  Twice.  Although the second time hardly counts.  I should
have never let my first husband go.  The second one was such an asshole, I
dumped him after a month.  What about you?  Any missus crying her eyes out
about a missing husband?'

   'No, I don't think so.  I have been married, but it didn't work out. 
I've been a stupid fool and the fact I've landed on the streets is just
what I deserved.'

   Her voice trembled slightly from emotion when she asked him her next
question, although he couldn't imagine why.

   'How was she?'

   'Well, that's the funny part.  I must have had a sort of nervous
breakdown before I became a hobo.  I do remember some of my former life but
a lot of it is lost in the mist, if you know what I mean.  It's like my
brain refuses to reveal the whole truth.  I only hope I haven't done some
really bad things.  I can't even remember what my wife looked like.  For
all I know, she could bump into me and I wouldn't recognize her.'

   'Don't you have a photo or something?' she whispered, puffing smoke. 
She sucked on her cigarettes without a break now, like she needed them to
comfort her.

   'Nope.  I do remember vaguely that my apartment burnt down.'

   She tuned to him and took him in her arms, stroking his back.  He was
stiff with surprise.  Her breasts felt so wonderful against his chest!  Yet
he didn't dare make a move.  After a while she released him.

   She didn't show any intention to anoint him again, and while he
regretted it, he had to admit the stuff from her doctor had worked so good
on his skin, he didn't really need it any more.  All through the rest of
the day she avoided him.  Only for dinner they sat together but she was
rather monosyllabic.  He went to bed disappointed, but then his mind
started to wander.  Hour after hour passed, and again he heard her sob in
her bedroom.  One question whirled around in his head.  Why was she so
touched by his fate?  Was it raising memories of somebody in her life?  Was
she projecting her feelings on him?  Or was there another explanation?

   After an uneasy night, he decided to ask her and so he did at the
breakfast table.

   'You said you should have never let your husband go.  What happened, or
am I indiscreet?' he asked, anxious to hear more.

   'Oh no, I can tell it to you, why not?' She sighed.  'I loved him and
I'm sure he loved me.  The trouble was I've been sort of overly ambitious.
When he failed to get the promotions and the increasing income I counted
on, we drifted apart.  I gave him hell over it and that of course ruined
our love-life.  In the end, we lived separate lives.  I began to go out
with friends and left him at home, mostly in front of his computer.'

   She had spurted it all out in a hurry and now she started to laugh.  A
sarcastic laugh devoid of joy.

   'You know what's funny?  It may have turned to the better, although I
felt he became jealous, and I don't know whether he could have overcome his
suspicions.  The truth is, I never cheated on him till I discovered by
accident what he was doing on his computer.  When I looked at those
pictures I didn't understand at first.  I had expected porn or something,
but all I found where pictures of women smoking cigarettes or cigars.  I
wasn't smoking back then, and I felt disgusted.  That's when I gave in to a
guy from work and became his lover.  Well, my husband found it out and we
had one hell of a row.  I called him a freak and a pervert and he called me
slut and, well, he left.  That's about all there is.  I never saw him again
and there's not a day I don't regret it.  I married the guy I had fucked
around with.  He was all I had hoped my husband would be.  He had a better
job, had been promoted several times and all that.  Except, he was a
fucking asshole!  He was arrogant and selfish and he couldn't keep his dick
out of any of his female subordinates.  The funniest part is I started
smoking after my second divorce.  A guy named Fleming taught me how to
smoke.  I went to him because he has quite a reputation as a counselor,
whatever that's supposed to mean.  I thought he was a sort of shrink, but
he was in fact a very nice guy and he suggested I try cigarettes instead of
pills to help me relax.  He was dead right on it.  It helped me a lot to
sort out the mess I had made of my life, but in a way it was also like a
late amends of sorts, you know, because my first husband loved to watch
women smoke and so I became a smoker also for his benefit, sort of.' She
stopped and he saw the tears in her eyes.

   And then he froze.  That was almost his own story, he realized.  He
stared at her, but she avoided his eyes.  Instead, she looked away, showing
him her beautiful profile.  That meant he could watch her smoke and blow
endless streams of creamy whit smoke towards the ceiling.  He stared and
stared, and slowly an image from years ago rose from the mist.  Lorna!  It
couldn't be, but it was!  She hadn't picked up an unknown hobo.  She had
picked up him, her first husband!

   They lay naked on her king-size bed.  She smoked, of course, and gave
him the occasional smoky kiss.

   'Since when did you know?' he asked her.  'Was it when I tried to jump
in front of your car?'

   'No, then I just had this crazy idea that you might be in the same fix
like the hobo I almost ran over.  Don't laugh at me, but the first time I
suspected it was you, was when I started to rub your dick.'

   'What?  You recognized me by my dick?' he shouted roaring with laughter.

   'No, stupid, of course not.' She shouted back in mock anger, laughing
too.  'It were the three birthmarks on your belly.'

   'But why did you cry all night?'

   'So you heard that, didn't you?'

   'Yes, but I had no idea why.'

   'Guess that's what made me so sad, that you didn't recognize or want to
recognize me.'

   'But I did in the end.'

   'Yeah, and I understand why it took you so long.  Come over here and
kiss me once more.  Do you like it better now that I'm a smoker?'

   'Do I like it better?  DO I LIKE IT BETTER?  Just you wait till Dickie
here is fit again and then I'll show you how much I enjoy it.'

   ***

   She wore a red cocktail dress that left most of her back uncovered.  She
had done her hair and wore heavy make up.  She had bought him a tuxedo and
now they danced together, clinging to each other, cheek to cheek, legs
entangled, oblivious of all the people around them.  Together they hummed
the tune that seemed to fit so perfectly.

   The lady in red is dancing with me Cheek to cheek There's nobody here
It's just you and me It's where I wanna be But I hardly know this beauty by
my side I'll never forget the way you look tonight

   The End